Sector Capri
by RadioJane
Summary: A young "detective" growing up in the lower-caste levels of Iacon gets in over his head when he tracks a coming threat involving the illegal Gladiator Circuits and ends up captive in the High Tower Pavilion! Will he find help in the higher-caste members?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Sector Capri

Genre: Friendship/Adventure

Characters: Nightbeat/Mirage

Summary: Growing up in the lower caste levels of Iacon, sparkling Nightbeat- a self-proclaimed detective with a toy gun- has come across a number of cases of desperation, violence, and sad endings. But what is he to do when he's a victim caught in the midst of a dangerous plot by gangs tied to the Gladiator Circuit landing him as a captive in the high-caste Tower Pavilions? G1, look for lots of cameos!

Rating: T for Barricade and Nightbeat's cybertronian swearing and some violence. Drinking refrences.

POV: goes back and forth from Nightbeat's prespective to third-person.

A/N: Hi! This is my first fic (I'M NERVOUS!), and I'm up for constructive criticism. Imagine this being a mix of G1, WFC (awsome game), and a dash of Megatron: Origin. Not that it makes much of a difference, but I just love the designs of the settings and characters from WFC and Origin makes for a nice set-up. Also, Nightbeat is a youngling. :) Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

The cooling vents of the slowly decaying manufactoring facility provide no refreshing breeze as I stealthily pass through them, following a pre-destined path through the winding and intersecting tunnel-like structures that anyone else would be hopelessly lost in. This factory used to produce a constant stream of high-quality cybertronium which would then be sold to anyone from egineers, artists, or armories. However, once Kaon began refining the raw materials they dug up from their mines themselves and offered a lower price, the factory lost its support from the middle and higher caste market- the only ones who could actually afford what we, the lower caste of Iacon, produced- and the factory was shut down. Since then, our little community has been slowly decaying, just like the rusty bolts holding this place together.

Not many in the higher castes, living in their great tower-like structures of artistic ingenuity, care for a small lower-caste sector hidden below the turning clouds of orange smog in the lower levels of Iacon. Most wouldn't believe that we even exist. They don't realize that Cybertronians can endure some of the most extreme conditions that this universe can throw at us.

I reach my destination, an end to the vent seperated from the open air of the spacious factory beyond by an immense fan. If the cooling system were still operational, I would surely be caught in the suction of the fan and shredded by its rusty rotors. I crouch and move without a sound until I am at the edge of the tunnel, holding onto one of the blunt blades and peeking around it to take a decco. I see my quarry, on time as usual. Five out-of-towner hard hitters, lead by their head honcho who's voice is hard to forget, Barricade, approach three smarmy-looking members of the local "protection service". I feel like spitting at the sight of them.

This sector of lower Iacon is a magnet for low life criminals, an unfortunate fact for the hard-working citizens and families just trying to get by with their diminishing job opportunities. Known officially as Sector D-12, it's better known to the locals as the Cavum de Primus - the pit of Primus. In short, we call it Sector Capri; it has a more pleasant ring to it, I think.

Initially, we had gangs coming in from the Badlands to take over the factory when it was still up and running. After that piece of the pie was cut out of the equation, they turned to other means to satiate their greed, namely the low incomes of the locals. "Protection" is what they call it, and I'm guessing they mean protection from them- which they've clarified on numerous accounts- as there are no other real threats down here save the environmental and occupational hazards.

I've kept tabs on who's who in the currently reigning gang, who are calling themselves the Circuits. I have a hunch they're connected to the illegal Gladiator Ring that's made its way into the subsurface levels of Iacon, supposedly hidden from the High Council's prudent eye. Following their namesake, the Circuits may be sending their collections of protection fees down a feeding tube into the belly of the Gladitorial beast that's been ravaging other helpless communities that are under the cares of the higher-ups.

Since no one on the outside of our little world seems to be making any moves to help us, I've made it my mission to follow and crack this gang of theives myself, perhaps in turn leading other communities to do the same once they see it can be done. Sure, I may be little and fresh from the Well of Sparks, but I'm not to be taken as just some sparkling. My older friend from the Enforcer Academy, Prowl, tells me to let the correct authorities handle it, but I'm sick of waiting and doing nothing. Tonight, I act.

Just then, Barricade begins to talk. He doesn't sound very pleased. Unable to make out his contempt grunts at the native gangsters, I look for an opportunity to snag a better seat. I see my opportunity presented as a thick, soot-covered cable hanging from a decommissioned crane just beyond the vent's opening. I could easily jump and grab it, but I have no doubt that the old machine would squeak and whine in protest to the additional weight.

As if Primus himself saw my inner conflict, Barricade orders his men to open a crate that was offered by the Circuits trio. Two of Barricade's lackeys begin bashing the crate open, creating quite a ruckus, and without a second thought I make my move, leaping the small distance. I quickly slide down the length of the cable, having to drop down twice my height when it ends short. I touch down as lightly as I can manage and made a quick dash to a safe viewpoint from behind a large machine beside the conveyor belt assembly line.

"What is this? Is this your idea of a joke?" Barricade barks in a deadly tone upon seeing the contents of the crate spill onto the aged floor, casting a dim, pinkish glow.

The three thugs cower before the smaller but lethal bot, the center one managing to muster up an excuse, "This sector is nearly run dry, boss. And this is all the people are receiving as income. We should just leave this sector, we could do better-"

"I didn't ask for your pathetic excuses!" Barricade roars with a fury he surely picked up from the Kaon Gladiator Megatron himself. "Low-grade energon rations?" He violently scoops up a servofull and takes quick, wide strides until he is face to face with the speaking thug. "We need credits, you glitch! You seriously think I'm gonna just waltz up to Megatron- Megatron! -and give him a box full of rations that couldn't sustain a single Gladiator for a cycle?"

Barricade lingers in their faces for a moment, the thugs quickly averting their optics from his blazing glare. Tilting his head and leaning in closer, Barricade takes on a low, quiet tone, "Maybe.. Maybe you? Why don't I make _you_ give it to him yourselves? I think that would just solve everything. Yeah, I think I'll do that."

Quickly, the thug being adressed makes his plea, "W-wait! Barricade, sir, there's- there's gotta be somethin' else we can do! This sector, it's empty! It'd be more useful as scrap!"

Barricade shoves the blubbering thug away from him and turns his back on him and begins walking to the back entrance of the factory. "I've heard enough. And there is something you can do. Bleed." With that, he's gone, leaving his men behind.

Seeing the tell-tale signs that this is gonna get real ugly real fast, I turn to take my leave. I make a mad run for the front entrance while keeping to cover as I hear the first cracks of busting plating and spliting cables. I reach the entrance door for the factory workers and shove it open with all my might, only to see a tall, looming silhouette acting as a second door.

That's right. Barricade doesn't make his collection runs alone.

I try to turn and run back into the factory, but I'm seized around my head by a large, black, gritty-smelling servo. I kick my pedes aimlessly as they're lifted off the cold surface of the factory floor.

Brawl chuckles with his demented vocal processor, twisting his wrist to get a better look at me. I'm unable to stop myself before I throw a right hook his way, only to miss by an arm's length. This only incites louder cackling as Brawl lifts his other servo to touch his com link at the side of his ugly head.

"Hey, Barricade. I've got a surprise for ya. What starts with 'Night' and ends with a thud?"

"What? That kid? Ha. I could go for a laugh. I'll be right there." Brawl is sure to put Barricade's cold response on speakerphone so I can know what I have coming.

* * *

A/N: Well? Like? :) I've already got the next three chapters written, but I may publish them once a day so I can collect some reviews for each one. I'd really appreciate to know what's on your mind with this, so don't be shy! ^_^ The action will be startin up in the next chapter, and I'll probably post it today just because :D Ciao!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's the second chapter I said I'd put up today. I just looked at the "traffic" on my profile and saw I've gotten my first hit on this. Yeah. I'm spazzing out right now XD. Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

Alright. It's true. They've caught me prowling around once or twice. I'm still working on my stealth, and overall I would say I've done a good job. This, however, is only the second time that they've actually _physically_ caught me. First time, they left me with a "warning". It took three decacycles to heal and was even more troublesome to hide from my single creator; not to mention Prowl, who looks after me like an older brother.

They told me what would happen the second time should they catch me again, and I don't feel like hanging around to verify their threats. I am, however, in what could very easily be deemed a death grip, with my delicate processor pinched in Brawl's immensly powerful servo. Before I can think of a way out, I see Barricade enter the scene in my peripheral vision. His energy signature wreaks the stench of the pain I'm about to endure should I fail to escape.

"I thought we told you to stop playing spy, kid. Didn't you learn anything the last time we had this chat?" he begins popping his knucles, one at a time. For a moment, I can't even hear the sounds of the carnage further back in the warehouse, just those singular pops echoing inside my helmet.

Brawl takes a moment to partially turn towards the innards of the factory to take a wide look around before he states, "Lots of old, rusty machines in here. I'll bet they're still functional."

Barricade likes the way his friend thought, which he makes apparent by the growing sneer on his face as he, too, takes in the wide berth of opportunity provided by the factory's outdated mechanics.

Taking initiative in the little conversation once more, Brawl adds an incitful suggestion, "I say we let the kid decide which one we use."

Deciding that I have better things to do tonight, I pull out my subspaced ray gun. Not a real ray gun, mind you, but its flashing red lightbulb and high pitched siren noises are enough to at least delay if not completely deter an attack. Both Barricade and Brawl watch my fumbling sparkling hands throughout the entire action until I'm finally leveling its firing end towards Brawl with a dead serious look on my face plates.

Almost in disbelief, Barricade's wicked grin grows into a snarl as he asks, "And just what are you gonna do with that? Blind us?"

"Yep." Is my only response as I take aim and throw the toy with all my might as though my life depended on it -which it does. The toy goes spiraling through the air and lands sharp-end-first into Brawl's single, incredibly ugly optic. With a grunted howl of pain, the brute's grip loosens enough for me to squeeze free and drop to the floor. I have to move fast, however, as Barricade's energon blade shoots out of his arm and towards my spark chamber. I quickly roll and jet back into the factory after grabbing my ray gun, knowing that there is no way I could out-speed Barricade on the open roads.

I'm unpleasantly surprised to find that Barricade's mechs have finished up with the Circuits and are now focusing their attentions on me. I leap onto the conveyor belt I had been crouching by earlier and begin running up it towards the back of the factory. I've had plenty of time to memorize this facility inside and out since it was shut down, and at the far end of the conveyor belt is a chute that leads to a subsurface warehouse where the factory's outputs were stored and picked up for shipment.

As I mentally recall the schematics of the factory, I'm violently brought back to reality by a sudden ringing of bullets ricocheting off the rotting conveyor belt I currently occupy. I yelp as one grazes my left shoulder just as I reach the end of the belt and leap down the sliding chute, not knowing if I'm being tailed.

I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm not good with pain. Sure, it happens, and I'll endure it if it means protecting something important to me, but I won't handle it well. This intolerance in turn leads to my blacking out as I go down the twisting, metal slide; the worst possible time to do so as I know Brawl will be coming down right after me to avenge his sore optic.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ok, I am having a lotta fun with this story :D And after only 2 hours I've got 11 hits! That's pretty good, right? X) lol, the story is gonna take on a third-person POV for now, but don't worry, you'll get to have some more one-on-one time with Nightbeat later on ^_^ And you'll have to be patient for Mirage's entrance :D

To my first reviewer SEZwho94! : First, you're awesome XD Second, I'm glad you like the detective chat you hear from Nightbeat in Ch.1, I was totally going for that feel. Also, thanks for letting me know Ch.2 was short, I'm honestly not sure what the general length of chapters are, and I've got a lot written down but wanted to space it out some ^_^ As for Nightbeat's age.. hmm I'm always bad at determining kid ages, but I suppose he's probably something around 8-ish. He's still young enough to carry a toy ray gun and allow others to somewhat baby him, but still getting to be old enough to be like "I'm the detective in these here parts" XD. I'm glad you're enjoying it! I'll be posting these chapters up like wildfire until I start school the 21st, but even then I'll do my best to get fast chapters out ^_^

To Vivienne Grainger (also awesome ^_^): I'm so glad you're enjoying the read! And thank you so much for the kind reviews; I'm feelin pretty darn good right now X)

To the rest, please Enjoy and Review! ^_^

* * *

Nightbeat slowly rolls over, incredibly comfortable as he drifts in and out of consciousness, oblivious to the world and the worries it bears. Soon, however, he feels the cold, rough floor of the subsurface warehouse beneath his delicate plating, the energon that is pulsing furiously through his processor and out his left shoulder in a long, warm stream brings an odd comfort to one who is partially recharging and immune to reason.

Suddenly, like a shot of the cold high-grade energon that he isn't supposed to touch but tried once when his creator was away from home, Nightbeat rises into the land of the functioning, terrifyingly aware of the danger he is in. He notes that a few of the still operational lights are on in the warehouse- they were never on. With fear gripping his spark, Nightbeat knows that he isn't alone in the dim subsurface structure.

He whirls behind the nearest crate of machinery parts, visored optics frantic as he searches, audio processors scanning for the faintest hint of another presence. He landed directly beneath the assembly line's chute; surely Brawl knows where he is.

He's toying with him. That slagging glitch-head is toying with him.

He waits for what seemed to be a short eternity. Cold condensation coats the surface of his plating but does not streak downward, seemingly frozen in place just as his chassis is. Then Nightbeat remembers where his way out is. Several machine-operated doors stand in a row where the shipping vehicles used to pull in to pick up their loads. At the farthest end of the row, there is a long metal ladder that leads to a railed catwalk which runs across the top of the row; Nightbeat presumes it's there for the workers when they needed to grease the large gears that operated the huge doors. At the end of the catwalk opposite of the first ladder is a second ladder that leads up to a hatch door in the ceiling which opens to the surface.

Nightbeat has to admit, it's an ill-planned layout, with no real means of escape besides the ceiling hatch if a fire were to start. But again, the factories of the lower-castes were built for practicality, not safety.

He has to act. He knows Brawl will be expecting him to make a run for either the door controls or the ladder. Laying all he has on the table, he makes a run for the general direction of both exit opportunities, expecting he will be intercepted before he reaches either.

Following suit, Brawl announces his presence with an exploding shell from his tank form. "'Bout time you joined the party!"

The shell lands a good distance away from Nightbeat, but the following splash effect of debris and shrapnel makes it clear that Brawl isn't aiming to obliterate, he's aiming to maul.

Hot bits of metal sear Nightbeat's plating, awarding Brawl with a short shriek which the Gladiator returns with a thunderous laugh.

"Didn't get any in your optics, didja?" Brawl lets out another manic fit of laughter at his own poor joke.

Nightbeat has to think fast; else he isn't going to last much longer. Veering his path to a sharp right away from Brawl and back into the depths of the warehouse, he's surprised to see that Brawl is chasing after him. Surely if the mech has any weight in his processor he would keep sentry at the only exits, knowing Nightbeat would eventually have to approach him again. Nightbeat is much faster than Brawl, especially when he's in his bulky tank form; he could easily lead the tank to the other end of the crowded warehouse then ditch him and make a beeline for the exit using his speed and smaller size to navigate all the crates and machinery of the warehouse. Also, if Brawl waited for Nightbeat to wake up on his own, that means he loves the thrill of waiting for his prey to fall into his trap. Why the sudden urgency?

Then it hits him, Barricade must be telling him to speed things up so they can make their getaway back to Kaon or wherever they go when they leave Capri.

Planning to follow the plan he has concluded will work, Nightbeat slows his pace when he notices Brawl is no longer behind him. Before he can locate the heavy hitter, another shell screams through the air, sending shrapnel into a nearby container, catching Nightbeat's attention with the resulting sparks. The container has an energon label and is locked into a refueling station for the transport vehicles and has a huge hose lying precariously on the floor. Time for a plan B.

* * *

Barricade is growing restless as he keeps watch at the front doorway of the factory, the cool-hued lights of the resting city playing with the contrast of his fiery optics. He told Brawl to hurry up his little revenge trip- and what, for sparkling antics? -but already it's been two breems. Barricade has to admit, it's pretty impressive how some kid as seemingly calm-natured as Nightbump or whatever it is could manage to get Brawl's reactor linkage twisted in a knot. On second thought, there was just something about the little brat that makes Barricade's processor hurt as well.

He begins to regret letting his five backup Gladiators go ahead of him to their little hideout in the subsurface levels of Iacon burrowing under Cybertron's surface. Not that he needs backup for anything, he's just getting bored and wishes there was someone around he could fight. Maybe those three sorry excuses for gangsters are-

Barricade is ripped from his line of thought when a muffled explosion rocks the ground and structure of the factory. Quickly opening a com-link with Brawl, he hears only static.

What the frag?

* * *

Another somewhat short chapter, but I'll probably put up Ch.4 today which is a much longer one :) Prowl makes his first appearance!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here's Ch.4 , it's definitely one of my favorites so far :) Please Enjoy and Review!

To Vivienne Grainger: I'm glad you're enjoying the ride! It's about to take a dangerous turn X)

* * *

Nightbeat lazily stretches on his recharge berth, keeping his optics shut under his visor as he enjoys the cool breeze of the early morning that drifts through the small living quarters he shares with his mother, Minerva. Feeling unable to fall back asleep as his gears are still slightly pumped from the night's happenings, he decides he should probably clean off the black soot that's covering him from processor to pede, not to mention tend to his shoulder wound. Quickly swiping away the small puddle of energon that had gathered on his berth where he had rested the hurt shoulder, he makes for the small public shower room that the entire living complex of thirty-five residents shares.

Finding a vacant shower stall, Nightbeat gives quick greetings and avoids meeting the curious optics of his life-long neighbors as he leaves tracks of black grit all the way through the humid room. Washing himself off, he figures it probably wasn't a good idea to have let the soot sit on his wound for the remainder of the recharge cycle. As he watches the blackened water swirl down the drain, he can't help but smirk at the reminder of last night's big finale. Just as soon as it appears, however, it slowly dissolves as he comes to a grim conclusion.

I would be dead if Barricade had decided to join Brawl in the warehouse.

Barricade is, without a doubt, one of the meanest mechs he's ever crossed paths with. Rumored to be in the Kaon Gladiator Megatron's main circle, the dark mech has surely done his fair share of time in the arena pits stretching across from Kaon to Slaughter City.

Sure, Brawl is obviously a threat to Nightbeat's well being as well, but he lacks Barricade's level of intelligent, cutthroat tactics and speed. In truth, a kid shouldn't even be within five hics of a duo like them. Yet Nightbeat insists on being in the same building as them. It's all for a good cause; of this he doesn't need to remind himself. It's for his home, his people. Their little world.

Deciding he's clean enough, Nightbeat scurries out of the shower room. He thinks about grabbing something to refuel, but decides against it. Last night's revelation proved that his community need to wisely conserve their already small rations of low-grade energon. He doesn't return to his living quarters, knowing that his mother would give him their only rations if she caught him. She's the one who works, she need the refueling.

Instead, Nightbeat transforms into his vehicle mode and speeds down the old, narrow streets of Sector Capri. The streets are old, sure, but not dirty. His community is of a proud people, as low as they may be in their luck, and they do their best to keep their home clean.

Nightbeat considers taking the next left turn to head towards the daily public education facility, "school" they call it, but instead continues his forward path. He's too far advanced for the classes provided there thus extremely bored by them, and can safely miss a few more solar cycles before his mother will be contacted. He has a quarry to hunt down and intercept.

* * *

Prowl transforms into his robot form upon reaching his assigned patrol location, Sector D-12. Hailing from the proud city of Praxus, the young bot had joined a transfer program in order to attend the prestigious Enforcer Academy of Iacon. The Academy is located in the mid-lower levels of the gleaming city in order to expose the students to some of the "rougher" parts of society. Part of Prowl's final training before his coming graduation into adulthood includes solo patrols of Sector D-12.

During his very first patrol of the low-class sector, Prowl had felt like a sore thumb with his polished, bright white paint job and highly held door panels- native traits of a Praxian. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when he had been warmly greeted by every single bot he came by. He nearly jumped out of his chassis when he had found that he had a little tail- a blue and yellow one with a curious look on his face plates- that bumped into the back of his legs when he had come to an abrupt halt at sensing the tag-along.

Since then, he has grown quite fond of the little region- known by insiders as Sector Capri- hidden under the clouds and its residents, including Nightbeat. He has learned that Nightbeat has ambitions of becoming a self-made detective. Prowl is always surprised by just how dedicated Nightbeat is to going beyond his caste to pursue something he's passionate about. He can relate to it, as he had needed to go to great lengths himself in order to gain entrance to the Enforcer Academy of Iacon.

Coming back to the present, Prowl hears a familiar pint-sized engine coming his way. Nightbeat is always trying to get the drop on him by arriving at the Praxian's patrol route before his scheduled start time. Prowl, however, has arrived at what is turning out to be the perfecting timing. Quickly stepping into a nearby alleyway, he can't help but blush as he meekly smiles and returns a morning greeting to a chuckling passerby who knows what he's up to from similar past occurrences.

That's another thing Prowl has grown fond of. Everyone knows what everyone else is up to without even questioning it. That demonstrates a deep sense of... family. That is the only word he can think of to name it.

Prowl waits for nearly a klick before growing suspicious and can no longer hear the approaching engine. Slowly peeking around the corner, he understands now why the earlier passerby had been chuckling. Looking down, he sees a bright, orange visor accompanied by a growing grin looking right back at him. He wasn't the only one occupying this corner, it would seem.

"Would this count as a stalemate, then?" Prowl asks the sparkling detective, neither of them moving from their perpendicular places against the wall.

"Hmm, well technically I knew where you were first. I asked around and found out." Nightbeat returns with a challenging tone that loses its challenge thanks to his bright smile.

"You should have tried sneaking up on me from the other end of the alleyway, then. Never engage an adversary from the front if it can be avoided." With that, Prowl leaves his place in the alleyway and begins his usual patrol route, Nightbeat joining alongside him.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" He knows Nightbeat is beyond the teachings of this sector's public education system, but it should still be important. If anything it taught self-discipline to at least attend.

"Did you bring me any books?" Nightbeat counters to divert the subject.

Prowl smirks and shakes his processor a little, retrieving a datapad out of subspace and placing it in the small, anxious servos, "'Volume Seven of: The History of Cybertronian Crime'. You're sure your creator doesn't mind you reading these?"

"She's okay with it; she knows I'm mature enough to handle it. Thanks!" He gingerly subspaces the precious knowledge source. Datapads are few and rare in this sector.

Nightbeat's movements bring something to Prowl's attention.

"Nightbeat, what happened to your shoulder?" he asks in a worried tone as he stops and kneels down before the youngster to have a better look, gently grasping his tiny arms to hold him still. "Did you- did you get shot?" He looks into Nightbeat's visor, but the little one tucks his chin in and leans away from him. He's hiding something.

"Nightbeat, who did this to you? Were you following the Circuits again? Did they do this?" when the sparkling keeps his vocal processor on mute, Prowl stands and scoops him up. "Come on, then. You're coming with me to the Academy to get this looked at and to file a report. We'll com your creator when we get there."

The Academy also serves as the Enforcer Department to the lower sectors of Iacon as it is the nearest official station. Many of the lowest-scoring students stay at the Academy upon graduation to join the Department branch. Nightbeat knows that isn't going to be the case with Prowl, however. He could see Prowl being at the side of the current Prime, and perhaps even the one after that. Although humble, Prowl is always appreciative of the confidence Nightbeat has in him.

"W-wait! My creator can't know I'm not at school right now, and she can't know what happened, either...!" Nightbeat can't stop himself before he voices the highly suspicious-sounding statement.

Prowl pauses in his strides and looks Nightbeat square center in the optics, "and what _did_ happen? You need to tell me how you got hurt, Nightbeat. This could involve serious charges against the ones who did this to you." Prowl isn't going to just brush this aside.

Thinking quickly, Nightbeat devises a plan of action, "I was... playing in the old factory last night... and... and I caught some pieces of hot metal when... I kind of... blew up the lower shipping warehouse."

Nightbeat shuts his optics and braces himself for a third-degree freak-out from Prowl, but slowly peeks through his visor when it doesn't come. He grows worried when he sees the look of shock frozen to Prowl's faceplates and the small stream of white smoke leaving his processor housing.

* * *

"You're an idiot. Quit complaining about your empty, achin' processor and do your job." Barricade growls at his partner as they wait outside the looming double-doors of their superior's quarters. Barricade has to hand it to those snobby Constructicons, it's pretty impressive how spacious and looming the ceilings and rooms in this cozy, underground bunker base are. Still, however big it is, it's dark with only the bare essentials for lighting. They obviously prefer creating the dramatic sense of being swallowed in an endless void, or at least it seems that way.

"I'm gonna find that kid, Barricade. He'll be screaming like a seeker whose wings just got clipped when I do." Brawl gnashes his unseen teeth and glares at the doors before him as though he could burn a hole through them.

"Yeah? Well let's hope he doesn't have any more toys with him. I'd hate to have to listen to your complaining when he takes off your diodes with a bouncy ball." Barricade scoffs at the towering mech beside him. Brawl turns his optic towards Barricade and puffs his chest out like he has something defensive to say, but Barricade isn't in the mood sit around and wait all day for the lumbering fool to think of just what that is going to be, "Enough of this. We've got more important things to be worrying about than some sparkling who's hardly weaned off his motherboard's oil. Such as, what we're gonna tell Ol' Megs when he sees we've come up short on our collection rounds due to a certain Sector D-12."

Brawl deflates his threatening stance at the thought of a terrifyingly angry Megatron. "There's no way he could know about our collections, we haven't reported them in yet. It was just in the last cycle!" Brawl's optic then flare when a thought actually courses through his neural circuitry: can Megatron read minds?

Not caring to know what had suddenly sent a charge through his partner's processor, Barricade counters, "who says we have to report it ourselves? Ever consider his little 'master spy' and his freaks-of-Cybertron minions?" Barricade is, of course, referring to Soundwave; a supposed loyal servant of their lord.

Speaking of the blue-horned devil, Soundwave makes himself known when he parts the two solid double doors and comes out of his superior's quarters, his red visor betraying even less than his monotone voice, "Lord Megatron orders your presence before him."

Barricade sneers at the Lord's lap pet and a distasteful thought for the mech passes his processor. He doesn't trust the minicon-ejector. Soundwave levels what may be a knowing stare at Barricade –it is honestly difficult to tell where his optics really are at any given moment –and turns to lead the destructive duo into the open room that provides plenty of shadows for his creations to scurry about, unseen.

This room, with a high ceiling and hall-like structure, serves as the base's "throne room"; and a throne there is, but not of the shining High Council variety. At the end of the wide hall opposite of the double-door entrance is a large chair made of charred scrap metal of unknown origins. It could pass for any other piece of metal ready for the scrap heap, but to those who know of the presence usually occupying the seemingly harmless furniture piece, it is a menacing object that found its way into their nightmares.

Both Barricade and Brawl nearly jump at the echoes provided by their own pedesteps as they come ever closer to what is surely their un-maker. The hall itself isn't an extended walk, but it creates a loss of awareness in both the senses of time and space. By the time one reaches the throne, it is as though their chassis had been stripped of protection and is a sinking mass of quivering limbs.

Finally reaching their destination, Soundwave lifts his hand to indicate that they come no further –as if they wanted to –before taking his obscured position at his Lord's side, his ghostly visor the only assurance of his presence. Barricade tries to ignore the churn in his tanks as he catches sight of a flash of a smaller red visor to his left.

Barricade and Brawl both struggle to keep their chassis still as they wait to be addressed, their awareness readings at their highest levels of sensitivity and solely focused on the one occupying the throne of their nightmares.

With his optics shut in thought, it could be mistaken that Megatron is a sculpture made of solid cybertanium, forever to reside upon his dark throne. It isn't until he opens his optics that the undeniable life and potential death inside them is realized, their blood-toned light spilling into fading pools upon his sharp features. The two bots before him feel their air vents tightly shut.

"Ah, Barricade, Brawl. Two of my most dependable soldiers." His optics narrow as his mouth curls upward in what may have been intended as a smile but only leads Brawl to spring an internal leak. The thing about Megatron is that one can never quite tell when he is truly content to see you or when he is about to sink his flail into your laser core. Either way, you get the same show of pearly whites and pleased tones.

Barricade is about to state his case when Megatron beats him to the punch, "I have something most important to task you with. It concerns Sector D-12."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Oh man, I can't believe how many hits this story's getting! And international ones, too? :D You guys are awesome, I hope you'll stick around for the whole story :) Going back to Nightbeat's POV, I missed writing what was going on in his head X)

To Vivienne Grainger: Thank you for your continued reviews! I love reading them, it's great to know how a reader reacts to what I put down. I also like how contemplative you are of Nightbeat and his actions, I can tell you like to pick apart and analyze stories ^_^ And yes, if I can help it, the only wibble you will be seeing will be in my author notes XD

To SEZwho94: haha I'm both glad that I accomplished the mood I was going for but I also kinda feel bad for bringing you discomfort XD And yes, yes Prowl did indeed crash :D I had to X) Thank you for your reviews! ^_^

To everyone else, Please Enjoy and Review!

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I leave the Enforcer Academy through the gated entrance beyond the front courtyard of the palatial structure as I unconsciously walk to the beat of a nearby squadron of students marching in-sync around the grounds. The Academy sticks out like a sore servo in this sub-society city of lower Iacon with its grand, ornate pillars that surround the primordial building that borrowed its motif from the time of the first Primes. Over the front doors of the entranceway is a shrine-like archway that holds statues of the great heroes of Cybertron's past within carved out niches. Stepping out onto the public streets, I muse on my day so far as I head homeward.

I got off lucky today despite the downsides of the cost. A medic by the name of First Aid had arrived on the scene shortly after Prowl had shorted-out; I assume they must have monitoring chips on their students. The mellow-voiced medic was unable to pry me free of Prowl's frozen hold, thus I had to be awkwardly transported along with my older companion to the medical office that was adjoined to the main building of the Academy. After a few brief questions and a quick patch-up of my shoulder, I was sent on my way. I wonder if Prowl will remember our little chat before this incident.

He means well, and only wishes for my safety just as much as anyone else's, but Prowl may impede on what must be done in my sector if he decides to get nosey (as he is programmed to). He's proven to be of little help in the process so far, as he only lectures me whenever I try telling him about what the Circuits are plotting on a given cycle. I suppose I'll be flying solo, just as I always have.

"Hey! Nightbeat! Wait up!" I'm pulled from my dismal island of thought by a cheery call and turn to acknowledge the small figure quickly approaching me.

"Siren, it's been a while." I'm unable to match his smiling demeanor as my previous thoughts continue to tug at the edges of my processor.

Seemingly undeterred by my gloomy greeting, Siren catches his breath before widening his smile, "has it really? I thought I saw you just three solar cycles ago."

"Oh." I suppose that with all the night-prowling I've been up to it seems like it's been longer. I continue my walk towards home, Siren joining by my side.

"So, Nightbeat… I've been trying real hard for a while now, and I just can't figure out this puzzle you lent me." The light blue sparkling pulls a colorful cube out of subspace and holds it out for me to take. "What's the secret to it?"

Taking the small cube that's composed of multi-colored squares that could be navigated until all sides of the cube were composed of single colors, I study Siren's progress as well as his failure to grasp the hidden lesson. "There's no secret, only a misconception. Do you remember the first chapter in that Detective Manual that I lent you? What was the main subject?"

"Um, was it 'Thinking Critically'? But Nightbeat, what does that-" Siren's optic ridges scrunch more tightly together in confusion with every word he speaks.

"It has everything to do with this. With everything." I stop walking and hold up the cube for Siren's optics. "Critical thinking is a skill every detective must master, or else he'll be trapped inside a box, a cube, unable to see the big picture and what it can reveal about the truth." I peel off two of the colored stickers of the cube and switch them, instantly solving the puzzle. I hand it back to my dumbstruck friend as he stares at it, his mouth slightly pursing as though a word is stuck on its edges. Continuing my walk when he comes to a halt, I can predict what's coming.

"You- that- that was a mean trick!" he quickly catches up to me, a heavy pout now dousing his rounded features.

"Well, I was only trying to teach you something. You'll remember now, won't you?" Siren can stay upset for a while if not reassured, so I make quick on doing so.

Giving me a quick look then staring at the street ahead of us for a moment's thought, Siren's expression returns to its sunny form as he nods and observes the cube in a new light. I have to chuckle at how quick he is to forgive and forget. It's one of his qualities that keeps him sane when with me, and that also makes me glad I know him as my friend.

"Um… Say, Nightbeat… Are you going to the factory tonight? Are the bad guys gonna meet there again?" I could tell Siren was trying to sound nonchalant with the question, but I knew better.

"It's too dangerous, Siren. They're not here to play nice with the locals; they'd sooner gut your gears. You're not old enough to come along with me. I go alone." I have to be as blunt as I can be without crushing his light spirit, else he won't get the message.

"But, but Nightbeat, I-I could help! What if I… What if I carried your ray gun for you?" It's painful to tell this kid no, but he's too soft, too kind. Too innocent. How someone raised in these parts could turn out like him is beyond my grasp, and if he retains his blissfulness through his life… I'm not sure it's entirely a good thing. At the same time, however, I wish for him to be able to stay oblivious, to stay so happy and carefree. I know that with bots like me who are dedicated to protecting our community out on the streets, it could be possible. I can't give up what I'm after.

"A detective has to keep his weapon on hand, always. But listen, Siren," I stop again and turn the younger sparkling to face me, "if you're really interested in being a detective, come find me in a few meta-cycles. For now… just… enjoy how things are, at home, at school with your friends, with your parents. Things can change really fast, and you don't want to miss your opportunity to experience them. Sound good?" I bend my knees so I can be optic-level with him and offer a smile.

Siren, upset once more, focuses his optics on the cube in his hands before raising them to meet mine, "Promise?"

I'm not the type to make promises, call me superstitious, but I feel promises tend to make themselves unattainable through any number of circumstances; I almost feel as though making promises opens the door for those circumstances. However, I'll make this exception, knowing that Siren, upset once more, needs assurance once more that I'm not trying to brush him off.

"Yeah, Siren," I put a hand on his shoulder so he knows I mean it, "I promise."

* * *

Barricade and Brawl release from their air vents what felt like megatons of pressure as the double doors of Megatron's quarters shut behind them. They linger with their backs facing the doors for a moment before Barricade takes initiative and begins walking through the tunneling halls of the dark underground base, Brawl slowly joining to walk alongside him once he feels energon rushing through his numbed chassis again.

"That was close. I was sure he was gonna-"

"Shut up." Barricade snarls to the other, "That's old news. This new gig is gonna require all the resources we can take; those dense Circuits may not be enough, but we'll find that out tonight."

The two walk in silence until Brawl makes the mistake of thinking aloud, "I'm surprised Megatron gave us this job. This seems like something he'd put up to his new fly boys. They seem to be his new favorites." Brawl's optic drift up towards the hardly visible ceiling in a ponderous manner, tracing what curvaceous patterns he can make out in the dark.

Barricade lets out an exasperated sigh at his partner's ignorance, "The seekers have done their part in this scheme of his. They don't specialize in this kind of business, anyways; they're better at doing their little dances in the clouds… bunch of little… And you make it sound like we're sub-par in comparison to them. Sure, we're doing all the little dirty deeds with these waste sectors, but it's all in preparation for what's to come, just like how the Gladiator Circuit is helping us gather an army. Cybertron is gonna be ours, and we –us two –will be the ones and Megatron's side when we take it."

"So… until then we're sub-par?"

Barricade feels an urge to turn and stab his comrade in the leg.

* * *

A/N: Can you tell I have too much fun with Barricade and Brawl's banter? :D


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: It's been threatening to rain for the past few days, I wish it would… I'd have a lotta fun writing this to the sound of rain XD (what? I like the dramatic… :D) But alas, rain hardly ever comes here in the desert X_X Has anyone read this in the rain? XD to all my awesome readers, Please Enjoy and Review!

To Vivienne Grainger & SEZwho94: Thank you for your reviews! And I'm glad you both enjoy the Barricade/Brawl banter as much as I enjoy writing it :D

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* * *

**

**Silence**

The dim stars overhead indicate that I'm arriving home later than my creator would prefer. After talking with Siren, I had decided to take the scenic route home, to see how the sector was doing on a day like this. Bots were headed off to either run their shops or to head for the transportation station at the edges of the sector so they could reach jobs they had in other districts. Sparklings were playing in the alleyways after school had been let out. A pretty femme I saw whistled a tune I'd never heard but won't forget anytime soon. Things were calm, peaceful even.

Something is wrong.

They say that times are at their darkest just before the dawn, but that's not how it works around here. Here, dawn is an omen for the approach of a black storm, one that just may consume us entirely and leave nothing in its wake.

Now that I think about it, I haven't seen a single Circuit on the streets all day. Again, it's a bad omen.

I open the lockless front door to my home. Checking my internal chronometer, I verify that it is indeed much past the time my school let out. I make a quick glance around the single room quarters I share with my mother, our recharge berths pushed against a far wall, the feet of them facing one another; my berth is surrounded by a blanket she hung from the ceiling for me so I can read at night while she recharges. At the other end is a chest that holds our precious memories, as well as an energon storage unit. In the center of the single room is the place we spend most of our time together, as rare as that's become, an old table that looks as though it would collapse with the slightest touch.

As I assumed, she's not home; her night shift at the pub has already begun. I catch the faint scent of something sweet –something edible. On the small table that sits under the only light in the room is a small cube of energon with a note that has my mother's servo-writing on it. I gingerly lift the note from its place leaning against the cube and read my name on it. I love her writing. It still has the swirly flicks of her wrist that it's always had. I subspace the note and pick up the cube, deciding that I can't avoid refueling forever and also respecting my mother's wishes for me to nourish myself.

I sit at the table as I take in the precious vitality that will give me a boost for tonight, whatever it may bring. I try to clear my mind, to find a void somewhere where I can have just a moment of silence, but fail. This room feels cold without my mother's presence, but in a way she hasn't been here for one meta-cycle, four deca-cycles, and ten joors. And neither have I.

Finishing the last drop of energon, I check my subspaced items to make sure I'm ready before I head out to my usual stake-out point, the pub my mother happens to work at. I walk quickly through the streets, watching as the day creatures take shelter in their homes and as those of the night join me, each taking their own path. Before I know it I've reached my destination, the Rusty Red. Notorious for its High-Octane Vintage, there's hardly a customer that leaves the place with a functional equilibrium.

I run to the alleyway behind the pub and climb onto a disposal unit to reach an open air vent, my small size granting me to climb inside. I crawl through the dented tunnel way until I come to a second vented opening that looks down into the bar scene below. This place is swarming with Circuits every recharge cycle, and this one is no exception. This is also the place where I find out the who, what, where and when of my quarries. Now that I'm in position, it's time to wait.

As I tune in to the sea of multi-tone voices, a particular one catches my audio receiver. I see my mother serving as the bartender, her friendly voice doing an excellent job of hiding her disgust for her current clients. I feel an ache pound once through my spark as I wish to be at her side to ward off the appraising optics of the low-life thugs on the other side of the bar.

Suddenly, a new face enters the scene. Breakdown, Barricade and Brawl's messenger to the Circuits, walks in; looking about the bar as though he fears someone is going to pull a knife or blaster on him. His strides are quick and jerky, his strange posture stiff and slightly curved like he was waiting to get jumped. He comes to the bar, standing beside the head-bot of the Circuits gang, and taps a clawed servo on the bar top to get a drink. My mother obeys.

Breakdown looks as though he strains something in his neck circuitry as he twists his head to glance over both shoulders –twice with each –before leaning in towards the gang lord, "We've got a new deal for this place, a big deal, real big. Barricade 'n Brawl want ya to bring all your mechs, all of them, every single one ya got on your list of mechs. Tonight, at the usual spot, they're gonna pass on the news of a new plan Me-… the Unmaker himself, the Slag-bringer, the guy who eats sparklings for breakfast, you get me? Yeah, he's got a new plan, just for this homey sector you've got under your servo. Don't be late, it happens in three joors –three, ok? Good, good, you better remember, cuz I've told you."

Without even waiting for the mech he was addressing to respond or even acknowledge him, Breakdown was moving out the door like he had Unicron himself on his heels.

I was about to take my leave when I heard a cube smash on the floor. My optics dart back to the vent and I feel a sense of horror as I see my mother being confronted by an over-energized Circuits member. I want to cry out in rage as he roughly grabs her wrist and tries tugging her over the bar top while the pub manager walks out of the room to cower in the back storage area. Other Circuits take notice and begin laughing at the struggle as it begins to take a rougher turn.

Having seen enough, I lean back on one pede as I ram the other through the vent, busting my way into the scene below and dropping out of hiding and onto the bar surface.

"Let her go!" I scream at my loudest vocal setting as I charge down the bar and land my pedes into the harassing gangster's face plates. The thug is out cold before his processor hits the floor behind him with a hollow thud of metal.

The surrounding Circuits are dumbstruck for a moment before they begin bawling with laughter, their over-energized processors taking the attack as a joke rather than an insult. My mother, with terrified optics upon seeing me, scoops me up into her arms and rushes into the back storage room, shooing the manager out before shutting the door. She then rushes me and grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me.

"Nightbeat, what are you doing here?" she chokes back a hard wave of emotion and takes a moment to compose herself before looking at me with tired optics. "Baby, you shouldn't be here. It's late and there are all kinds of bad bots out. Why are you here?"

I couldn't tell her my true motives, and I couldn't bring myself to lie to her, so I change the subject, "those mechs were gonna hurt you…"

She looks at me for a moment, her pretty features wrought with exhaustion and pent up stress. She knows exactly what I'm doing, but lets me get away with it just this once. She smiles gently for me as she loosens her grip on my shoulders and pets my head, "They get rowdy, baby, but they'll never hurt me. You don't need to worry about that. Besides, I'd kick their aft plates before they could ever try." She giggles in response to my smirk I try hiding and kisses my cheek. "I haven't seen much of you for a few cycles now. I don't like not seeing you." She takes me into a warm embrace and holds me there.

We stay silent for a while.

"Mom?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you." I tuck my head into her neck. Having not said these words to her for so long brings a sudden surge of emotion that I wasn't expecting. My air intakes are wobbly for a moment before I take back control of myself. I suddenly feel so weak, so pathetic… but then feel a new strength as she tightens her embrace.

She lets out a sad sigh, one that I know means she wishes things were different, that we were a whole family again. "Oh baby, I love you too." We stay as we are for a long time, my mother slowly beginning a lulling rocking motion back and fourth... I suddenly find that peaceful void in my mind that I was unable to earlier.

I've found that there are many kinds of silence, each provoking its own state of mind, its own sense and loss of awareness. Each has its own way of consuming everything; whether we welcome being consumed or not. This silence, this is the good kind.

"Nightbeat… we need to talk." I'm unsure as she takes hold of my shoulders again to bring me out of the embrace to look her in the optics. She raises her visor, which she only does for me, and I do the same for her. "I… know what happened last night. And I know you weren't playing. I hear things around this bar and… I know what was really going on at the factory; the meeting with the Circuits." My energon runs cold and I quickly conclude that Prowl must've somehow gotten a hold of my mother and told her what I told him. He ratted me out. As I'm unable to speak, she continues, "Baby… listen, I know things have been… they've been hard, but I don't want you running around at night while I'm gone, ok? I need to know you're at home, safe. I don't want you to get hurt. Please stop this, baby, please. I don't want you going anywhere near any of those mechs, ok? I can't… I can't lose you. I would die." A gloss begins to coat her optics as she desperately pleads with me.

"Mom… I…" I have to defend myself. "They're gonna destroy everything we have, and no one is doing anything to stop it-" I'm interrupted by a sudden sob from my mother.

"Nightbeat! You are a _child_! You just can't be doing this! I can't take this! If you don't stop this now I swear to Primus I'll send you away!" Clear energon streaks down her cheeks, leaving light stains. She's threatened to send me away to an academy once before, right after we first hit these hard times. The thing about sending a lower-caste sparkling to an academy, however, is that they become property of Iacon and cannot be seen again until graduation.

"But I can stop them! I can gather what's needed to-"

"Stop it, Nightbeat! You're not your father!"

My audio receivers go silent as my air vents lock shut. The ruckus of the bar on just the other side of the door becomes no more than a vibration against my pedes. I unintentionally drop my visor over my optics as I take a step away from my mother and then dodge her servos as she reaches to grasp my arms. I go into a zone of white numbness as I run out the back entrance of the pub and continue my speed down the alleyway. I feel the echo of my mother's frantic calls as she tries pursuing me, but I go even faster as I take turn after turn through the endless, twisting allies.

I'm unsure of how long I run, but I continue to do so. I can run forever. I'm untouchable, no one can catch me. No one can catch me. I keep running until I come to a narrow, open road; the only light coming from a nauseating street lamp. I slow my pace and finally stop, and suddenly I realize how quiet it really is. How alone I am. I hear only my own intakes but sense… something else. A danger I can't see. I twirl around, looking down the countless alleyways I could go through, loosing track of which ones I came from.

It's so quiet. I feel an uneasy sensation. I feel fear. I feel that I've come to a place I shouldn't have. It burns my optics.

A cold breeze brings me out of my vertigo, and I understand that now, more than ever, I have to make a stand. I clench my servos into tight balls and kick a trash unit to announce myself to the night, to declare that I'm unafraid of its silence. I'm unafraid of what it brings. They can't touch me.

I gather myself to find my bearings and decide my next route. I have somewhere to be in less than three joors.

* * *

A/N: It's gonna start getting wild for Nightbeat... He'd better be good at holding his breath...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: 151 hits! Aren't I supposed to do some kind of dance once I hit 100? Some kinda lil' disco move? XD haha, you guys rock! Thank you for all the fav's and alerts! Please Enjoy and Review!

To Vivienne Grainger: Thank you always for your kind comments, they continue to bring me joy ^_^ I've slipped in some more hints about the mystery of Nightbeat's family, as well as more Brawl/Barricade banter XD

To SEZwho94: Yes indeed, I thought it would be fun to slide a little foreshadowing in the A/N at the end there :D And I'm glad Nightbeat's retreat came across as it did, that was the exact point I was going for. Also, I wish I had a little brother like Siren! XD I've got an older one who I suppose is a mix of Sunstreaker and Optimus (hard to imagine, I know, but he's impossible not to love XD).

To Crossblade's Switch: I'm glad you're enjoying it! ^_^ You'll be learning more about Nightbeat's father in the next chapter :D Also, I'm afraid I don't understand German; I did, however, find a nifty little translator on Google, so rest assured your compliment was received with much gratitude ^_^ Danke mein Freund!

* * *

Minerva feels a spinning sensation as she desperately runs through the allies, her state of hysteria causing her to lose track of where she is; her child is missing. Her face plates sting like a fire is being held against them despite the cold wind that strikes them. She feels terror for what may happen to her child, she feels regret for what already happened… and she feels utterly alone. She then realizes, however, that she's been alone for some time now; and that her child, too, has been alone. That wasn't fair for him. She should have been there for him, but instead she shut down after what happened one meta-cycle, four deca-cyles and thirteen joors ago; what had left their little family a cracked shell, slowly leaking its vitality until soon… there would be nothing left.

No.

That wasn't going to happen. Things were going to change; of this Minerva makes a promise to Primus himself. Coming to a stop under a street light, Minerva gains control of her air intakes, in turn gaining control of her thoughts. She has to overcome the fear raging in her processor and think clearly; else she may be too late and lose her son forever. Straightening her posture, Minerva decides she either needs to head to the Enforcer Academy for help or go straight to the factory alone. Energon pulses furiously through her chassis, matching her determination as she makes for the factory; she'll kill every pit-spawned one of them if she has to. They aren't going to have her son as well.

Minerva's path, however, is intercepted.

The Circuits member that Nightbeat had dropped in the bar in her defense stood –though not with much stability as he was still clearly over-energized –before her with a hungry look in his optics.

"Get out of my way." Minerva stands her ground and demands. He is unmoved, blocking the entrance to the narrow alley they currently occupy.

"Saw you leavin', just wanted to make sure you get home safe, sweetspark." He comes closer, his larger form curving and towering over Minerva like a gargoyle, with a wicked smile to match.

"Move." Minerva's vocal processor drops to a deadly tone, her stance as solid as cybertanium.

"Why so hostile? As I remember it, your kid was quite disrespectful to his mother's customer. I'm only here to ante up the score. Maybe even collect a little interest." He reaches his servo out to grab her chin only to have it slapped away. This entices a chuckle from the dangerous mech as he bites his lip in anticipation and makes for another grab, "Say, where is the little slagger, anyways? He can watch."

Minerva lifts her fists in a warrior stance. She doesn't have time for this.

* * *

Barricade stands impatiently with his arms crossed as the surprisingly numerous Circuits enter the factory, gathering before the conveyor belt assembly line he and Brawl are on. He absently picks at one of the bullet holes in the rotting belt from the other recharge cycle with one of his pedes. Gritting his teeth, he closes his optics in an attempt to hold sway his sanity as he senses the putrid resolve permeating off the lumbering mech beside him; he's going to throttle the mech's throat one of these cycles.

"What ." Barricade finally grinds out, not turning his head towards the one he's addressing nor activating his optics.

"He's gonna be here tonight. I can feel it. You know he is. Maybe he's already in here." Brawl's stance is ready to pounce on any unfortunate creature that even has the same blue-and-yellow color scheme of his prey. His single optic scans the factory in its entirety before pausing at a large fan that blocks off an airway tunnel at the highest point of one of the factory's walls. "I think he gets in through that air vent over there. He always gets in somehow."

"Keep your obsession to yourself; I've been hearin the same thing for the past ten joors now and I'm getting sick of it." Before he considers of the consequences of continuing this conversation, Barricade adds, "Besides, Breakdown said he was in and out of the bar before anyone could really notice him. I doubt the kid will find out."

"I heard he attacked one of the Circuits. Maybe he even interrogated him to telling about tonight's meeting. I'll bet he used that ray gun. What if he's not even a kid but somethin' like a minicon? You've seen how small Soundwave's creations are…" Brawl upholds his serious, alert tone as his optic stays locked on the airway.

Barricade decides to cut this short and doesn't even mention the fact that the kid's 'ray gun' isn't even a real one, "You've got a bolt loose. Shut up now, we need to get this over with because I'm gonna get slag-faced tonight. You can't come, though."

"Wha-? Whaddaya mean? " Brawl's head quickly pivots to face Barricade.

"I mean I'm going to go drink so much high-grade that my audio circuits are going to fry out so I can't hear you ever again. And you're not invited." Barricade nonchalantly surveys the gathering crowd before them, his flat voice not betraying the fits of laughter he's enjoying in his processor. It was finally happening. He was going insane.

Brawl lets out an affronted 'humph', "Well you have fun with that. I'll be having my own fun once I get a hold of that little fragger. I've got the perfect plan." Brawl quickly forgets Barricade's cruel statement as he drifts into his sinister thoughts, holding up his fists and staring at them as though they are his best friends. He makes grumbling sounds, as though he's conspiring with the balled appendages.

Barricade slaps his servo to his face plate and wants to scratch it off until he peeks between his digits to see the head of the Circuits standing at the front of the crowd, staring expectedly at him. "Ah, everyone here? Good. Better be." Barricade straightens up and begins walking up and down the length of the conveyor belt in order to address the entire crowd. "You've all been called here upon Lord Megatron's wishes. He's got a new plan for this dump, and it's gonna be the most important thing you've ever done in your miserable lives." Barricade doesn't mind talking down to these low-class thugs, they're the scum of Cybertron and know it. They don't even deserve to wear the Decepticon badge, but at this early point in the game Megatron allows anyone who shares his ideals to join, numbers are what count; though in cases like this the Gladiator champion could easily distance himself if he so wished.

Barricade continues, "It seems that Megatron's seekers have actually done something useful and have found an asteroid cluster teeming with pockets of rheanimum. For those of you who didn't take Cybertronian Chemistry 101, rheanimum is a nearly impossible gas to come by that has properties that allow it to fill in the gaps between the molecules of a metal surface, increasing the density and durability of said surface. In short, it makes us Transformers nearly invulnerable. That said, this stuff is a hot item, and if the High Council knew about it they'd have their Elite Guard on us like that." Barricade snaps his digits for effect. He's distracted for a moment, however, when he sees Brawl step off the conveyor belt and start pushing his way around the crowd, looking towards the floor; looking for a short Cybertronian, no doubt. This in turn distracts the Circuits as they grow skittish as they keep an eye on the massive Gladiator or jump out of his way.

"By Unicron, I'm gonna…" Barricade whispers the promise to himself before clearing his vocal processor to gain back his audience. The result is instantaneous. "We can't have an encounter with the Elites, not just yet, but we also need to get this rheanimum to our Decepticon brethren across Cybertron. This brings us to the solution that Megatron has planned for us: we re-open this factory and begin refining cybertronium once more. We will also, however, infuse said material with rheanimum. This way, we can safely transport it through any and all customs, thus reaching our brethren at the far reaches of the planet." All at once, the crowd of Circuits begins protesting.

"What are we, worker drones?" "How're we gonna get any pay outta this?" "I thought the point of joining was to get _outta_ this kinda work!"

"Be silent!" Barricade didn't have to brandish his energon blade to get the desired effect from the stilled crowd. "First off, you'll do whatever the pit Megatron tells you to! Second, you won't be doing the factory working. You'll continue playing "guard" and keeping the citizens of this sector in check. **They** will be the ones doing the work. Start spreading the word, this factory will be up and running within the next few solar cycles, and Megatron expects it to be occupied with workers."

Barricade is about to turn his back when he sees a Circuits thug raise his servo like a good little sparkling would. "What is it?" the Gladiator hisses.

"Uh, Barricade, sir, h-how exactly is this factory gonna be functional in a few solar cycles? It's ready for the scrap heap." The speaking mech stays partially obscured behind his comrades in the crowd.

Barricade lets a slight grin tweak his features, "We've got some higher-ups who have a mutual interest in the success of the… Gladiator Ring here in Iacon." In other words, extremists who support the Decepticon cause. Barricade turns away and begins aiming for the back door of the factory.

"H-hey! Mr. Brawl, sir!" One of the gangsters that had been keeping watch outside the factory comes rushing in, only he hasn't come alone. Brawl quickly looks over across the crowd to the mech addressing him. "Is dis dat kid you was lookin for?" he struggles to keep his hold on a thrashing, blue sparkling.

A shimmer of pure glee dashes through Brawl's optic –much to Barricade's horror –as he shoves aside the crowd to meet the mech. He is then, however, brought to a complete halt upon reaching his destination, "Who the frag is this?"

The gangster holding the sparkling skips a few beats before responding, "W-well you said you was lookin' for a kid that likes to sneaks around here, an dis here kid was doin just dat. He da wrong one?" The dim-witted mech holds the youngling higher for Brawl, as though taking a closer look might change his conclusion.

Brawl roughly takes the little one by the pede and hangs him upside down, lifting him high enough so he's optic-to-optic with him. "So, we got ourselves a new little detective? Where do you little creeps keep coming from? Doesn't matter, we'll just have to teach you the same lesson we were planning for that other one." The crowd of Circuits begins to nervously laugh as Brawl guffaws.

My mouth drops open in a silent scream as I navigate behind the machinery around the inner edges of the factory and finally get a glimpse of who Brawl is dangling in his servo.

Siren.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: It's finally raining! (only desert dwellers are so excited about rain, serious XD) It's definitely putting me in the perfect mood for writing this next chapter. It's a pretty serious one, but those with a dark sense of humor may find a few parts amusing. Don't worry, the story isn't going to stay this dark, it's but a passing storm X) Please Enjoy and Review!

Oh, and I can't believe I forgot to do this earlier, but: Transformers and all its characters are (c) of Hasbro/Takara. The story and location of Sector Capri, however, are mine. I should be ok if I do this at least once, right? XD

To my amazing reviewers SEZwho94 and Vivienne Grainger: Thank you for your continued reviews! They keep me writing a chapter a day with anticipation to know what you think :D

* * *

A shrill cry erupts in the factory, bouncing off the high ceiling and piercing my processor; as well as my spark. Brawl bursts into laughter at the reaction after throwing Siren into the air and grabbing the sparkling by his delicate antennae-like audio receptors just before he hit the ground. The look I see on Siren's face will surely haunt me for as long as I remain online, his optics filled with terror as streaks of clear energon dirty his cheeks. I stay where I am, hidden in the safe haven of machines cluttering the factory, my optics locked onto the horrifying scene before me. I have to think. My optics search with frantic purpose to find any kind of opportunity that will put an end to this torment.

This is my fault. Siren's always tried to be like me, and I only encouraged him with promises and silly games. I never thought it would turn into something like this. This is my fault. I never thought my own actions would be the undoing of Siren's perfect little world; of his oblivious bliss. Primus, don't let this happen. Not Siren.

Brawl suddenly turns and makes a beeline for the conveyor belt, stepping up onto it and turning around to face the Circuits. He directs his attention towards the high air vent that I had come through the other recharge cycle, "I know you're in here, you little glitch! Come save your little friend! Ever seen the inside of a processor?" Brawl adjusts his grip to Siren's processor, tightening his hold until the youngling lets out a cry. "You like playing detective? Maybe you can try putting this kid's pieces back together when I'm done with him!"

The mechs in the crowd begin growing wary as they look to one another to make sure they aren't the only ones who think Brawl's fried his neural circuitry. Barricade looks like he himself is about to snap.

"Alright, you've heard all you need to know. Get the frag out! All of you!" Barricade begins shoving Circuits towards the front entrance of the factory as Brawl continues his manic rant.

This is my chance. Looking into the crowd, I see at least a few mechs who are armed. There's already a cloud of confusion amidst the gangsters all thanks to their superior's behavior, so I doubt any of them would begin firing off rounds in the crowded area should more confusion erupt; unless they're that stupid. I have to take my chances.

Darting out of my protective cover, I enter the crowd and move through it as fast as I can. A few mechs look down at me but aren't quite sure how to respond. I have to fix this, it's my fault. My plan is simple, my determination resolute. I reach the front of the crowd, and just as Brawl begins looking my way, I snatch a hand blaster from the loose grip of the Circuits leader himself and take aim. Before anyone can react, I shoot off two rounds, each pelting Brawl in his processor.

The shots aren't strong enough to penetrate or cause much more than aesthetic damage, but I attain the effect I was aiming for. The rounds momentarily disorient him, throttle his bolts a bit; he sure as pit has enough loose ones to be throttled. Brawl stumbles backwards on his pedes and his grip is lessened just enough on Siren's processor as I bound onto the conveyor belt and tug him free. The sparkling limply falls into my waiting arms and I force him to stand and follow me, taking his servo in mine.

"Nightbeat!" is all the scared youngling can manage as he trips over himself as I lead him back into the crowd of perplexed Circuits, some of which are coming back to their senses and brandishing their weapons. I hear a few shots fired off and see some mechs scream furiously as they hop on one pede while cradling the other. I tighten my hold on Siren's tiny servo as I keep him on his own pedes and moving, my other servo curling its digits around the sized-down blaster; I find that I like the weight of it.

Brawl is quick to recover and leaps straight onto the tight group of thugs, crushing their chassis like empty energon cubes beneath his mammoth weight. He strokes his arms through the crowd as though he were swimming through thin oil, coming closer and closer to our partially obscured but still moving position amongst the living frames. "I'm gonna tear out your spark and eat it! This is the end you fragging little glitch!"

We reach a wall and are pinched against it by the panicked mob. I can hear Siren's intakes quicken and become shallow as he's crushed between the pushing bots and hard surface of the wall.

"N-Nightbeat—I can't—" Siren struggles to keep his optics open. Gritting my teeth, I blast one of the pushing Circuits in the processor, the projected heat concentration having a very different effect on the thinner-armored helmet as the mech hollers in surprise and quickly pushes away from the direction of the source. I yank Siren towards me as I search for a small air vent I know is nearby –there!

I turn to see Brawl nearly on top of us and I shove Siren to run ahead of me. I also realize that I've lost track of where Barricade is in this chaos. Brawl then loses control of himself in his blind rage and transforms into his tank mode, right atop a mass of struggling mechs. He kicks his drive into high-gear, his serrated tracks tearing the plates and appendages off the smashed bodies below him.

Reaching the raised vent, I blast it open with the pull of a trigger and lift Siren up as high as I can. "Go, Siren! Climb in and get outta here!" Siren quickly scurries out of my hold and into the vent that's too high for me to climb into myself, turning around on his knees to look down at me with the horrible realization in his optics that I wouldn't be joining him. "Go Siren! Go now!" I yell as I turn and make a dash into the shelter of more machines cluttering a corner of the factory.

I'm unable to look back to check if Siren has done as I've told him, I can only hope that he has. Despite the situation I'm still trapped in, I feel an immense weight lift from my chest compartment. Siren's safe. But they may yet go chase him down for seeing too much. I have to keep them occupied.

I begin climbing atop the ladder-like structure of a rusting crane's neck as Brawl fires off a shell that nearly burns my heels and continues on its trajectory to blast through the factory's front face. In the back of my processor I hope that there were no innocents anywhere near the building outside, else they may receive an unexpected present of hot shrapnel. Coming to the top of the crane neck, I realize too late that I've made an error of judgment. I find that my plan to jump from the top of the crane to a thick bunch of cables precariously hanging from the ceiling that would lead me to a hole in the roof was concocted mostly by my rushing adrenaline, as now I see that the cable bunch is too far a jump for me.

The crane suddenly shudders, and I yelp as I almost fall off before latching my arms around a metal bar. Looking back the way I came, I see Brawl at the bottom, ripping the crane neck from its base structure. Freeing the metal structure from its roots, Brawl lets out a victorious laugh.

"Your little friend may be outta this, but you won't be so lucky, brat!" He begins shaking the crane piece wildly, in turn leading me to hit my face numerous times against the metal bar I'm gripping to for dear life. He then widens his stance for stability and swings the crane neck as far to one side as his arms will allow, directing his optic towards an opposing wall. I know what his plans are, and frankly, I don't feel like being smashed through a solid wall.

As he begins swinging me towards the wall, I'm brought close enough to the dangling cables to jump up off the crane part and grab on. This accomplishment, however, is short lived as an energon blade comes slicing through the air and severs my way out, sending me plummeting down to the hard floor below. My scream of shock is cut off by the violent impact.

I lie motionless on the ground; I can hear a leaking sound inside my helmet as my motor functions are inoperable from the abrupt decent. My optics slowly turn to see Barricade catching his returning blade out of the air. Didn't know he could do that.

"Play time's over. Brawl, whatever you're going to do, do it now and do it fast. In case you haven't notice, you just offlined half the Circuits from this sector and blew a shell out into a populated area. Slag's gonna hit the fan when the Enforcers arrive." Not that Barricade actually felt threatened by the Enforcers, just that he felt threatened by Megatron and didn't wish to disobey his orders of keeping out of the authority's field of vision for the time being. This event could definitely put a hamper on the work that was to be done in the factory beginning the coming solar cycle. "I'm calling Breakdown to bring a few mechs to clear this place of the mess. Looks like the rest of the Circuits took their leave. Can't really blame them." Barricade's tone is bitter, angry, and exhausted as he brings his servo to touch his com-link at the side of his processor.

The factory is eerily quiet once he stops talking, my dampened field of vision hindered by my inert chassis. I can only see Barricade, who stands near the entrance with his arms crossed. He was looking beyond me when he was speaking. Then I hear heavy, monstrous, pedes approaching slowly –almost casually. My intakes hitch and seal shut as my airway tightens with every step.

Then the movement stops. I can't see it, but I feel an immense presence looming over me, sending almost painful chills down my spinal strut. I can feel his optic on me, but he won't say anything. I try desperately to lift my processor, to reach for the blaster, to wiggle a digit, anything; but no results. The silence begins driving me mad with apprehension. An unintentional, barely audible whimper leaves my vocal processor.

Brawl releases a deep, vindictive chuckle. "No, Barricade, this won't be quick. But not here. I have it all planned out. Let's go." Brawl throws a large, brown sack over me and it sounds as though he's leaving.

Normally, Barricade wouldn't take the obvious orders from Brawl, but decides that his comrade may not be in a state of mind that ought to be vexed at the moment.

The shorter Gladiator approaches me with quick strides and pushes my chassis into the sack.

* * *

I on-line what may be a short while later, my chronometer apparently having been damaged from my fall in the factory. Its pitch black all around me, and I can hear a soothing sound… a constant shifting and breaking of liquid. Am I near a sea? No, the sea would take much longer to reach. I let out an almost content sigh as my senses take their time to return to me. I'm curled up warmly in some kind of… sack? I hear a bell ringing in the distance; the kind that might be found afloat in a harbor to warn travelers they're nearing land. A harbor…

I'm suddenly forced into full awareness as I'm turned upside down and dumped out of the sack. I manage to land on my hands and knees to avoid another blow to the processor, but quickly find the action futile as I'm kicked in my mid-chassis and sent rolling across an uneven surface. My motor functions have returned, but are weak at best. I lift myself onto my elbows and try to gather my wits quickly as another onslaught may be on its way. I'm on an old pier overlooking a harbor. There aren't any lights functioning around this particular end of the pier, and by the looks of the shards of glass littering the ground, they were intentionally made that way.

My spark skips a beat as I recognize which harbor it is I've been brought to. I haven't been here in ages. I haven't wanted to be here since my father was-

"Look who's finally returned to the land of the functioning. Not for long, though." I slowly turn my sore neck to look over my shoulder at Brawl, who appears to be shackling a set of thick chains to a dead weight of some kind. He seems to have sobered up significantly. That puts me on edge.

I see a mech walking the edges of the pier at the far end, probably Barricade. The fact that he isn't lingering around to see what Brawl has in store for me puts me further on edge. I don't think I'm gonna luck out on this one.

"Ready to take a swim?" Brawl taunts as he comes over to me and roughly pins me down with one servo as he begins wrapping the chains around my legs. No. Not like this. I can't go out like this. I can't let the same fate take me. I have to finish my father's work.

Brawl hefts me over his shoulder and begins moving towards the edge of the pier, looking down into the deep energon harbor. He chuckles a little before adding, "Should've stayed in school, punk." He releases me and the next thing I know I'm consumed entirely in the dark depths of the harbor, sinking further down still.

The thin energon isn't the only thing consuming me. Memories and ghosts begin flashing before my optics, and I feel a sense of hysteria grip my spark. I begin flailing whatever part of my frame I can move, clawing at the energon around me to gain some kind of leverage as the weighted chain takes me down. Primus, no! I can't be in here! What if his body is still in here? No, no they pulled it out, maimed, he's not here. But I can feel him. He knows I've failed him; I've failed what was left of our family. He hates me! Please, no! I have to get out!

Primus, save me!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hey all! I hope I'm keeping you on your toes with this :D Thank you all for the favs, alerts, and comments! Please Enjoy and Review!

To SEZwho94: I'm glad you liked the previous ending :D Also, I never really intended to choose a name for Nightbeat's dad… I felt that it was best to leave him as a bit of a mystery that provided a foundation for Nightbeat and his ways rather than giving him a face and a name. Plus, there were no canon characters that provided what I was looking for, and I don't feel an OC would be appropriate 3 Thank you for your comment!

To thepheonixqueen: I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and thank you for your compliment ^_^

Thanks to my other commenters Vivienne Grainger and Crossblade's Switch!

* * *

Siren dashes from the cover of a disposal unit when the coast looks clear, quickly crossing an empty street to find haven in the next alley. Circuits have been all over the streets since they flooded out of the factory, traveling in packs to their next destinations to likely stir up trouble and get slag-faced. Stopping behind a thrown out crate, Siren takes a moment to catch his breath, then holds it to listen for any signs of approaching danger. Deciding that it's safe, the youngling makes for another dart down the alleyway, aiming for another that intersects the one he's in.

He doesn't understand what it is he heard in the factory, nor the danger that knowledge could put him and others in. All he knows is that Nightbeat is still back there and he has to get help. He shouldn't have gone to the factory; that was so foolish. He should've listened to Nightbeat, he's smarter than the smaller youngling. It doesn't seem fair that Nightbeat's the one in trouble.

He'd never been hurt by a grown-up before, and certainly not intentionally. Siren didn't know there were mechs who did things like that to sparklings. What if all grown-ups had the capacity to do that? Siren's optics begin to burn and his stomach twists at the thought as he comes to the intersecting alleyway, turning the corner. Could he ever trust anyone again? What if the whole world wanted to hurt him?

Siren's train of thought comes to an abrupt halt as he collides with a tall figure upon turning the corner. A grown-up! He's going to get hurt! Siren screams in surprise and tries utilizing his tiny stature to run between the attacker's legs, only to be seized by a pair of arms encircling his frame. He kicks his legs with all his strength and begins hollering for help. In these parts, however, help never came. Answering cries for help usually got bots killed, so it was avoided in order to sustain good health.

"Siren? Siren! It's me! What are you doing out here alone?"

Recognizing the voice instantly, the little one is overcome with all that has happened and turns around in the hold to embrace his captor, "Minerva! I-I didn't know they were gonna do that! It's all my fault 'cause I got caught and he made me leave without him! He's still with them and they're gonna hurt him real bad 'cause of me! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" Siren is hysterical as his intakes hiccup and the dried streaks of energon on his cheeks are overlapped by fresh ones.

"Wait, Siren, sweetie calm down. Where is Nightbeat?" Minerva talks in a calm but firm voice, holding Siren's shoulders and looking him in the optics.

Siren rubs his eyes and sniffs as he struggles to control his intakes enough to speak, "He's –he's at the f-factory, they're gonna hu-hurt him!"

Minerva has to make a tough call now. She easily handled one over-energized Circuits thug, but a factory full of them? She'll need help, but she doesn't have the time to run to the opposite end of the sector to reach the Enforcer Academy. She could send Siren and make her own way to the factory… is she willing to put Siren in danger for Nightbeat? Deciding quickly, she concludes that at the moment, by the sound of Siren's panicked statements, Nightbeat is likely in more trouble than anything Siren could run into and it's a risk she has to take.

"Siren, honey, you need to go get help, alright? Go to the Academy and tell them to come to the factory right away, tell them someone's life is in danger. Can you do that?" She wipes the tears from his face and holds it as she speaks in a tone that incites confidence in the little one. He quickly nods and is sent on his way, and Minerva begins sprinting down hers. There's gonna be the pit to pay for anyone who's so much as laid optics on her kid in that factory.

* * *

There's a sinister story behind this harbor and its thin energon that flows from the delta at the heart of Iacon, following channels through various districts until reaching this artificially-made haven for sea-goers. This place is a hot spot for late-cycle drop-offs like me. The authorities pull out empty remains by the dozens with every passing orbital cycle. That's not the sinister part, though. That's just the foundation.

What makes this place so popular for those who want their victims to suffer just a little longer is the fact that the energon is so thin that it won't instantly fry one's circuitry when immersed in it; it also, as a bonus, provides just enough concentration of sustenance that it will keep a bot functioning at the lowest possible energy level sometimes for deca-cycles. In turn, it is guaranteed that said bot will be offlined by the gradual build up of burned-out internal workings. A horrible way to go.

That's what happened to my father. He got too close, learned too much, and got burned. He was a self-made mech, working as an investigative detective; he was his own boss, the master of his own fate. At least, I had always thought he was. He was out to bring down the scum of Cybertron, starting with the Circuits, and from there he planned to take on the whole slagging Gladiator Ring. His plans were cut short.

He didn't know it, but I studied all the reports he made before he would turn them into the Enforcer HQ –the top of the line, he didn't report to any Academy –as he usually left them lying around. I'm not sure if he did it intentionally, maybe it was to get me interested in his line of work; fathers always like it when their kid follows them. Maybe it was to show me that we live in a nasty world so I wouldn't have to figure that out the hard way, like Siren. Siren.

I hope he's okay. Anyways, I'll never know my father's intentions now. All I know is that I have to make my own tracks now, because I'm on my own.

I come back to reality, leaving the 'moment of Zen' I forced myself into in order to calm down. No use in wasting energy pawing for leverage that isn't there, I have to think this through with a functioning processor. The chain I'm linked to has at least three times my length free before it's linked to the dead weight below. That could be helpful. I pull myself down the chain to inspect the weight and how it's connected to the chains. Giving it a tug and looking closer, I see that Brawl had used his own strength to manually wrap a broken chain link through the loophole on the weight.

As I struggle with what my plan of action is going to be, I catch something looming nearby, something big. There aren't any Cybertronian creatures living in these depths, or so I thought. I can hardly make out its shape in the slightly glowing liquid. What is that?

* * *

Minerva arrives at the factory, quickly running to lean on the wall outside the entrance. Peeking in, things seem terribly quiet. Surely this was the place Siren meant by 'the factory'. She walks in, slowly, attuning her senses. She feels her internals knot when she sees what's practically a swimming pool of energon, fresh, smeared all over one side of the floor. Something really, really, big went down here. Did she just miss it?

"Alright you slaggin' glitches, pick up the pace! We can't be here when the goody two-pedes arrive! What's left to clean—" Breakdown freezes in place as he sees the femme standing in the middle of their little mess upon entering the factory, looking almost as surprised as he is. "Who –who the frag are you?" The other three mechs with him enter and group with Breakdown, making them look like a pack of energon wolves.

Minerva refrains from scoffing at the little display of mechly might and simply responds with a question, "Where is my son?"

* * *

It's a floating mine. How on Cybertron has it not been found and removed yet? By the looks of it, it must predate the first Golden Age. It could even be Quintessan technology. A piece like that ought to be in a museum. Too bad I have to blow it up.

I begin pushing against the dead weight, gaining a slow speed as it scrapes against the metal surface below me. The mine is being held in place pretty much the same way I am, except that the chain it's on isn't as long as mine. By the looks of it, it seems to be a tetra-shockwave mine (Prowl made me study the history of weaponry and warfare, and now I'm glad for it). This kind of mine releases four shockwaves in opposing directions, up, down, and to the sides. While devastating to a submarine during wartime, for me, this just might be my ticket out of here.

When I'm at my preferred distance, I release the dead weight and let myself float to the chain's maximum length. The mine is slowly rotating in the current, so I'll have to hit one of its nodes just when one of the energy projecting nozzles is facing my chains. I quickly look through my subspaced items for something to throw, and find that the only thing that will work… is my toy ray gun. Perhaps it belongs down here, in this harbor. It was one of the last things my father gave to me.

Forcing myself to pay attention, I wait for the moment to throw the gun.

* * *

Barricade and Brawl chummily stroll down the empty streets leading away from the port. Barricade feels relief as his friend's little psycho-trip seems to be at an end with the kid gone. Now things can go back to the way they were, getting over-energized and getting into fights. No more kids. No more obsessions. No more Nightbea-

A muffled explosion suddenly erupts from the direction of the harbor, making the duo duck and look back. Brawl asks the most obvious question on both of their processors, "What the frag was that?"

Barricade has a bad feeling about this. He remembers the cause of the last explosion he heard. If it was that slagging kid… "I don't wanna know. It was probably two ships crashing into each other. Let's go." Barricade quickly turns and continues their path onward with a newfound determination.

Brawl is fully and completely confused by his comrade's behavior and looks between his retreating back and the direction of the harbor, "But, hey wait, what if-" Barricade doesn't allow him to finish.

"Come on, idiot. The bar's gonna run outta high-grade if you don't hurry up." At that, Brawl quickly joins him as they make their apparent escape.

* * *

It worked! I can't believe it! A part of me was certain that either the mine would be inactive from age or would altogether explode, but it did its job. My chain is now severed in half, granting me to loosen its hold on me and to swim to the surface. Upon breaking the surface, my intakes are desperate for a fresh batch of air to cool my overworking systems. I'm quickly being pulled away from the pier by a strong current, that's not good.

I begin swimming diagonally with the current, but soon realize that I'm no longer caught in a current, I'm caught in the path of a huge loading ship! There's no way for me to swim completely out of the way, so I take one final intake before I'm pulled under by the ship's powerful turbulence. I'm sent tumbling alongside the ship's submerged sides. I can feel a second pull beginning to grip me, and as I look up I see that I'm approaching the back rudders.

Curling myself into a ball, I pray that the huge blades will miss me as I pass through them. I spin out for a moment longer, drifting dizzily in the cold liquid. I begin kicking my legs to reach the surface once more, feeling somewhat lighter than before. A strange sense of… calm… begins flooding my processor, as though I'm ready to fall into recharge. Looking back at the retreating ship, I see something curious sinking nearby. It looks like an appendage, a leg to be exact. It kind of looks like mine.

I breach the surface once more, refilling my intakes with my last bit of strength to keep me buoyant as I slowly loose awareness.

* * *

Prowl is the first to enter the factory, armed with his acid blaster and the knowledge that someone wants to hurt Nightbeat. A few other Senior students of the Academy act as his back-up, taking tactical positions as they each enter, keeping all corners of the factory in optic-view. The place seems to be vacant. Prowl lifts his hand to bring his team to a stand-still. Slowly taking a full look around, he approaches a floor that is covered with energon. Something definitely happened here. No sign of Nightbeat, however. That doesn't sit well with Prowl one bit.

Prowl feels a sense of guilt overtake him. He shouldn't have waited so long to address Nightbeat's night activities with his creator. Now, it may be too late.

"Alright, let's make a sweep through the rest of the structure, there's a subsurface warehouse down that stairwell over there. Keep your optics sharp, this energon is fresh. We'll call in the forensics team when we clear this place. Let's get to it." Prowl leads his team into the bowls of the dark warehouse, but will be no closer to finding the missing sparkling of Sector Capri.

* * *

A/N: Nightbeat's finally going to reach the High Tower Pavilions in the next chapter! ('Bout time, right? XD)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I'm publishing this chapter a bit later in the morning than usual… XD I had a long breakfast :D Thank you all for continuing to follow the story! Please Enjoy and Review!

To SEZwho94: You pretty much hit it on the nose! :D snobs indeed X) I'm glad you agree with my decision concerning the father ^_^ Thank you for all your wonderful reviews!

To Vivienne Grainger: Oh no I can't believe I did that right at the end of the chapter! D: I was keeping such a close eye on it, I guess my brain failed me at that last part XD Your comments are always so uplifting, thank you!

Thanks also to my other reviewers: thepheonixqueen and Crossblade's Switch ^_^

* * *

"Aaaaaah! You –you crazy-aft glitch!" Breakdown's petrified screams are lost in the noise of the rushing traffic on the speedway below as he is dangled over it from a pedestrian bridge. "I-I told you! I don't know nothin'!"

"Like the pit you don't! Now either you start talking or I'll make sure the mess you make down there will take a deca-cycle to clean off –at least what's left to find!" Minerva releases one of the hyperventilating mech's pedes, keeping a loose grip on the other. Her visage is one of pure fury. "Every klik of this running around is another klik wasted while my kid's missing. I'm beginning to think you're not worth the weight and my arm's starting to cramp." She releases him but catches him by the pede once more, drawing a femme-ish shriek from the quivering bot.

"Aaaah, wait wait wait! I, uh, yeah! Yeah, I know a kid! He's, uh, he's the one who was pokin' his sensors around, yeah? Yeah! He, uh, he got my friend's gears bunched up in a pretty tight knot! Says he was gonna do somethin' about it, my friend was!" Barricade smiles and laughs hysterically in horror, his optics locked onto the rocketing vehicles below, their head and taillights leaving streaks of luminance behind as a memento of their incredible velocity. He nervously cocks his head to see the femme fatale's reaction, silently begging to Primus it was a satisfied one.

Minerva is unreadable, her optics-shielding visor doing little to assure Breakdown of her intentions. "Who's your friend?"

* * *

I don't think I've ever had such a long recharge cycle. The entirety of it was spent going through the same motions: I would wake up, hardly able to keep my optics lit, paddle my arms in whichever direction seemed to have the most light coming from it, grow too tired, and take a fresh intake and lock it in my air tank to keep me buoyant as I drifted back into the worst series of recharge I've ever had.

I think I've reached land, my processor keeps bumping against something as I float on my back, concentrating all my strength on staying afloat. Opening my optics, my tired neural circuitry is unable to understand why there's a pretty femme looking down at me. With my audio receptors under the surface, I can't make out what she's saying as her lip components move. My logic system is able to kick in, however, and determines that now that I've been discovered, it's safe to fall into stasis. As I do, I hear the oddest thing enter my drifting processor.

"Primus be praised."

* * *

Prowl is unable to concentrate on writing his report for the recharge cycle's happenings. If he had it his way, he would be out searching for Nightbeat, not staring at a blank datapad. Procedures must be followed, however, as useless and nauseating as they are at times. Checking his chronometer, he realizes he's been sitting at his desk in his dorm room for forty breems now, and nothing has been completed. That's not like him. Deciding that he can be more progressive by means of action rather than contemplating and writing, Prowl stands and leaves his room, heading for the office of the Department branch's head.

The chief, a mech by the name of Sentinel Major who was transferred from Kaon, proves to be of little help.

"He's probably just run away. You know how sparklings are, especially in this area. His creator reported that they had a little argument just before the kid bolted. I'm sure he'll show up."

Prowl is caught off-guard by most of the statement, but inquires on one particular bit, "Wait, his creator came by?"

Sentinel Major leans back in his seat behind his ornate desk, shrugging his shoulders uncaringly, "Sure, she stopped by earlier. I saw her at the reporting desk, talking with the receptionist. Not too bad on the optics, huh? She was actually asking for you, but I knew you had a report to write up, so I handled it myself. You're welcome."

One would think –from the way Sentinel Major conducts himself –that Prowl is the older of the two. Deciding not to grow upset and slow whatever progress he may be able to squeeze out of this situation, Prowl states his plea once more, "Sir, if you would just sign off the resources for me to make sure that this is simply a run-away case –although all evidence found at the factory ought to clearly convince otherwise –I know I can put a mother at ease and bring a child home to safety. With the rates of criminal activity at an all-time high in Sector Cap –Sector D-12, we can't afford to take the risk of writing this off as sparkling-antics; and neither can Nightbeat."

"Who?" Sentinel's inquiry provokes the question of whether or not he has even heard most of what Prowl has said.

"Nightbeat. The sparkling of Sector D-12 who's been reported missing. By his mother." Prowl does his best to keep his tone respectful and clenches his jaw in order to refrain from grinding his teeth.

"Sure, Nightbeat. Listen, Prowl, I'm sure you have something like your Senior thesis to be working on –"

"It's completed, sir." Prowl internally curses himself for interrupting his superior, likely tipping the odds against his favor.

Sentinel Major loses his laid-back demeanor and stares at Prowl with half-shuttered optics, "Then perhaps you need to **edit** for **mistakes**. You're dismissed, Prowl. Leave the work to the Enforcers, it's their jobs, not yours. Not until you graduate."

Prowl holds his ground for a moment longer, feeling his only opportunity to help Nightbeat slip out of his desperate servos, "Sir." Prowl follows the respectful protocol and stands at attention, saluting his superior before turning on his heel to leave the office. He storms down the halls of the Academy, drawing curious looks from his peers as his optics darken with anger.

Procedures and protocols be damned.

* * *

I feel a cool morning breeze brush over my chassis as I lie with my optics shut, slowly becoming aware of my surroundings. This breeze, however, is different from the one that passes through the home I share with my mother; it smells different… almost artificial.

I online my optics, slowly, and find that once more I have an observer. This one, however, is an aging mech with firm faceplates and a red helmet adorned with a striking black 'V' shaped chevron crest, similar to the red one Prowl has. His words take a nanoklilk to process as the remaining fog dissipates from my senses.

"Hey, there he is. You gave your creators quite a scare, there. Your motor functions have been temporarily disabled; we wouldn't want you to damage your repairs upon waking." The mech gently touches an energon line in my neck cables and looks at a screen device on his forearm, taking some kind of reading. "Excellent, you seem to be coming along just fine. How do you feel?"

His friendly tone is incredibly welcomed and I almost begin to drift off again before he gives me a slight tap to a node on the back of my neck, bringing a rush of energon to my processor that brings me back into awareness. I could certainly use to learn a trick like that.

I try to respond, but instead choke and cough on my dried out vocal cables. The medic-bot turns around in his seated position beside the berth I'm on to accept a cube of light energon handed to him by a green femme-medic and turns back to offer it to me. Pulling a few more fancy servo tricks, the medic pushes and tweaks a few circuits in my apparently open processor housing until I feel my motor-functions return. I blush slightly when I realize that my processor unit is exposed with a femme in the room. The medic brings me into a sitting position so I can take in the offered sustenance.

"Try and take it easy. As it is, you'll need to wear a brace on that new leg of yours until your systems accept it."

My processor skips a beat at that last part. Did he just say 'new leg'? Looking down , I find that one of my legs are now a brilliant solid white, like a new… replacement part… would be… Well… that explains why I kept finding that I was swimming in circles earlier.

I take a moment to observe my new appendage; it most certainly doesn't match with the rest of my dirty, scratched up chassis. Then I'm reminded that I have no idea where I am, nor do I know who I'm with. I pause to take in my surroundings. I'm in a rich-looking, spacious room with white walls and floors that are accented by some kind of light stones, creating an alabaster appearance. One side of the room is entirely windows, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, letting the satellites of Cybertron as well as Cybertron itself illuminate the room in a stunning bath of light. It appears that I'm in a highly elevated building of some kind by the looks of the view.

I pull myself away from my jaw-slacking awe to find out what the deal here is. "Who brought me here?"

The medic looks a bit baffled for a moment before smiling and responding, "Why, your creators. Do you know where you are? Your mother has been especially worried since we arrived. We had to ask her to leave the room." He leans in close to my face and raises a small light to my optics, "You must have bumped your processor when you fell into that filtering grate in the energon channel. You're actually pretty lucky; most bots don't survive an incident like that." Apparently satisfied with what he sees, the medic leans back and offers another assuring smile.

A fresh wave of confusion washes over me at the false story that surely can't be linked to me, "But I didn't –"

I'm interrupted as the arching door to the room is activated and swooshes open with a high-pitched suction of air. The femme I saw earlier –she looks to be about my mother's age, quite young –enters along with a mech who almost looks familiar. By the looks of their gleaming chassis, these two are high-class bots. She quickly strides over to the other side of the berth I'm on, a very affectionate smile growing on her faceplates, "Oh, thank Primus you're alright, sweetie. We were so scared, weren't we, darling?" She turns to the blue and black mech who lingers at the end of the berth, his arms crossed and his expression less-than-excited.

"Of course, love. Very scared." He's obviously lying. He sounds skeptical, as though he's not too happy about what's going on. Whatever it is that's going on.

The femme doesn't even seem fazed by the mech –her sparkmate, perhaps? –and proceeds to sit on the berth, looking at me as though she knows me inside and out. Who the frag is this lady?

"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay. I'm not sure what I would have done had I lost you. I may have died." the femme says with a gloss over her optics.

The statement sounds very close to what my mother told me in the back of the pub. My mother… I ran away from her. That was so… childish. I should have at least stayed and heard her out, even if in the end I wasn't going to follow her requests. I have to get back to her, to make things right. I told her I loved her before I left, didn't I? I know I intended to… but my memory is failing me at the moment. I have to return to her.

"I have to go home. Thank you for helping me, but I –" I'm once more interrupted by my own vocal cables as I begin another coughing fit. This is beginning to frustrate me. The medic once more brings the energon to my lip components, his brow furrowing in confusion, and perhaps suspicion.

The femme releases an audio-grating giggle as she flashes a row of perfect pearly whites, "Oh, sweetie, home is quite a ways away! Fret not, though, we'll be returning soon. For now, though, why don't we enjoy our stay in Iacon?" She laughs and puts her hand on mine, looking to the medic to try to spread the jovial mirth. The medic, however, doesn't look very convinced.

Turning to me, the medic announces both to me and to the odd couple, "You'll need to get plenty of recharge, these things can be quite tumultuous on a sparkling's frame if not properly looked after. I've made a batch of special energon that you'll need to have once a cycle, it'll help your internal circuitry agree with that of the new leg. Now don't go running and climbing everything that looks climbable, at least not for the first deca-cycle." The mech's mouth quirks into a knowing smirk as he wags a digit at me.

The femme straightens her posture and her smile fades just slightly, "Why, such activities are unfit for a young gentlemech. Aren't they, darling." Her mate responds only with a hum.

I feel a little offended at that. Running and climbing things seems to be all I do with my free time. The medic doesn't seem very impressed, either, but offers a smile about as fake as the femme's.

"Ah, one last thing," the medic pulls out a datapad from subspace and brings a stylus to its surface, "what's your name, son?"

The femme reaches across the berth to touch the medic's arm, "Oh, Ratchet is it? Why don't we go into the other room to fill out the details. I'm sure my little spark needs his rest, don't you dear?" To my complete surprise, the femme leans forward and plants a kiss onto my cheek. Normally I would have told the femme to shut up and would have given the medic my name, but I'm dumbstruck by the greatest show of affection I've ever received from a complete stranger.

The medic holds his place at my side for a moment, his optics betraying his annoyance and growing suspicion, "Sure, yes, why don't we do that…" He stands, glancing my way, almost as though he's expecting me to reach out to grab his arm and say something.

The mech at the end of the berth excuses the medic to leave as he announces his presence –strange, I almost forgot about him. "Thank you for your services, Medical Chief Ratchet. Kaon will most certainly take note of the hospitality of Iacon's Medical Department."

I choke once more, but this time not on my parched vocal processor, but on the word 'Kaon'. The medic –Ratchet, I need to remember his designation, he may be of help in whatever it is I'm caught in –makes to reach for the energon on a nearby table once more, but the dark mech is faster and takes it first. They have what looks to be a short stare-down before Ratchet smiles at the looming mech and turns to take his leave.

"Take care…" he says to me before leaving into the other room, his femme assistant following him, looking a bit puzzled. I can only nod my processor in returning the farewell.

Now I'm alone with the mech who entered with the strange femme. He sits at the seat Ratchet had been in, and holds the energon cube up for me. Not feeling an ounce of trust for him, I take it into my own servos and drink; our optics are locked on one another's, as though we're keeping an eye out for any moves to be made. The mech stands and moves towards the door. He stops short and only turns his processor sideways to talk to me.

"You ought to get some rest. You wouldn't want to strain yourself." And with that he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

What is going on?


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Chapter 11! Hey, and just sos you knows, I start school Monday, so my updates will be less often than everyday _ (arg oh no skool gross XD) Mirage finally makes his appearance! –pun TOTALLY intended X) I see that I've got quite a few ninja readers, I would love to hear some comments from you guys! Till then, Please Enjoy and Review!

To MasterChiefAnderson: I'm glad you like my story! ^_^ Oh, and they actually are in Iacon, the mysterious mech just mentioned Kaon because he's actually a Kaonian politician, sorry if there was confusion . But now I just may have to find a way to take this story to Kaon since you're curious about it… :D

Thanks to my other reviewers: SEZwho94, Vivienne Grainger, thepheonixqueen, and Crossblade's Switch! ^_^

* * *

I let out a sigh of pure bliss. I've never been so comfortable. My berth feels incredibly soft, and there's no wind blowing on me, if anything the air feels warmed. I roll onto my side and open my optics. The light of the early cycle is streaming in through a large window like streaks of liquid gold. Since when did my home have a window like that? Since when did my berth make me feel so refreshed after a good recharge?

I dart up into a sitting position, my processor spinning as I take in the unfamiliar surroundings. I quickly make to leap off the berth I'm in, but my leg gives under my weight and I'm sent crashing onto the floor, my clumsy pedes twisted up in the sheet I was wrapped in. Apparently the ruckus I make draws someone's attention, as I hear a door swoosh open and hurried pede-steps come my way.

"Oh, darling, what happened? Did you have a bad video code while you were recharging?" I remember where I am and what has happened as the familiar, clearly insane femme sits at my side and embraces me as she pets my processor.

"I'm, uh, I'm fine. Ma'am." I have so many questions vexing my neural circuitry, I come up empty when my vocalizer opens. I decide to start simple, "Where… Where am I?" I try to be polite as I squirm out of the femme's _mostly_ unwelcome hug.

The femme looks a little surprised, as if I should know. "Well, sweetie, we're in Iacon. Your father brought us along on his business trip. Don't you recall?" She smiles so sweetly as she speaks that my teeth begin to ache. She then puts her hands on her hips in a mock-serious manner, "And what is this 'ma'am' business, now? I know we raised you to be a noble gentlemech, but it's alright to address us as 'mother' and 'father'." She sits and waits for me to respond, her smile unwavering.

This lady is out of her mind! She's making it sound as though she's raised me up as her son! I knew that there was something dark hidden in this femme's processor behind that genuinely forced smile –she's clearly refusing to accept reality. But then I wonder: what reality is it she's running from? Deciding that blatantly disagreeing with a circuit-fried nutcase may be a bad idea, I decide to change the subject. Fast.

Before I'm able to concoct another question from my filled processor, my internal tanks make a rumbling sound, indicating that it's empty.

The femme takes instant notice, "Oh, listen to that rumbly tubmly of yours! You must be starved, dear!" I feel extremely violated as the still-stranger-to-me playfully pokes my midsection, giggling her insane little processor off. I almost wish I was with that unsociable sparkmate of hers instead, but he may be just as crazy if he's dealing with her all the time.

The walking set of loose bolts rushes out of the room, saying something about getting me energon. Now's my chance! I use what bit of strength I have to heft myself onto my pedes (you'd think if this femme was so maternal she would've at least helped me up) and hop on my good one over to the only door of the room. Opening it just enough to peek through, I find that the coast appears to be clear. I begin my desperate single-peded hopping-marathon down a ridiculously spacious hallway; it could really be used as an entire living space for two families in Sector Capri, yet it passes as a simple passageway into another section of the building here.

The bright lights of the outside assault my optics from the wall of the hall that is all windows –this 'wall of windows' thing seems to be what's 'in'. It's never been this bright down in Sector Capri, the lights from the Cybertron above are greatly dampened by the churning clouds of smog that acts as a physical barrier between us and the higher-ups. I pass under an archway into what could easily pass as the Well of Allsparks. I've never seen so much luxury.

The floors, walls and ceilings all share the white alabaster appearance of the other room, the light creating quite a display as it dances over the small specks of stones worked into the finish. Huge pieces of art deck the walls in a manner that is anything but subtle. My optics are stolen away by the splashes of colors so rich I don't feel my empty tanks complaining anymore. Ornate pieces of white furniture are spaciously organized with plenty of pede-room to spare. From the center of the ceiling hangs what could very well be the spark of Primus himself; a beautiful exhibition of blue crystals floating in midair, a soft sound resonating from their core, acts as a light source. It reminds me of the Helix Gardens of Praxus Prowl is always telling me about.

I'm pulled out of my awestruck when I hear two pairs of pedes approaching. I hop over to a piece of furniture and hide as two mechs enter from another hallway. One of them is the dark mech from earlier, the femme's probable sparkmate; the other appears to be a seeker, with a flashy paint job of white, blue, and red. The dark mech is the first to speak when they enter the room.

"Always a pleasure doing business, Starscream. I look forward to hearing on the progress of your lord's business." He smiles in a manner that says 'I've got you under my servo and you've naught a clue'.

The seeker shakes servos with the mech as he responds, "Yes, of course. We wouldn't have you come all the way from Kaon simply to ponder upon our status. You will be updated come our next meeting. Until then, take care, Emirate. Give your mate my regards." He gives the same smile as the other; they're clearly trying to play one another in whatever business it is they're discussing.

'Emirate'. I thought he looked familiar; he's the Emirate of Kaon. If I could only remember his name…

I quickly have to shift my position of hiding as the two mechs go to the entrance of the living complex, opening out to a small courtyard. A small thrill passes through me as I get to see a seeker transform into his alt-form up close before he blasts off. Rather than returning into the complex, the Emirate instead continues onward, leaving my scope of vision.

Before the door shuts, I hop outside into the courtyard, making sure that the Emirate is no longer around first. I look back at the building I came out of, its shape round and tall, like a tower. The courtyard I'm in almost seems to act as a bridge to an adjacent tower-like structure; however it is much larger than the living complex. Perhaps it serves as a community gathering spot.

Passing a fountain that sits in the center of the courtyard, I walk over to the edge where an intricate metal wall rails the sides, probably to keep overenergized locals from tumbling off into the abyss below that is Iacon's surface streets and speedways. I'm quite high up, and looking down the sides of the structures around me, I appear to be in some kind of tower community.

Once more brining my attention to the long drop over the edge of the courtyard, my imagination can't help but consider what a fall like this would do to a bot, "That'd be a nasty mess…"

I'm the brought to the edges of my pedes as I hear a soft snickering behind me. Spinning around, it seems that I'm still alone in the courtyard.

"Who's there? I know I heard someone…" I don't like being spied on. I'm supposed to do the spying, not the other way around.

A voice then comes out of apparent nothingness, "Who are you? I've never seen you before."

I let a sneer cross my features as I respond, "Yeah? Well I still can't see you, and until I do I'm not talking."

The voice continues on, not seemingly grabbing a clue that every spoken word brings me closer to finding his location, "Do you live here? There aren't many other younglings around… Where have you come from?"

I spit back my response like venom once more, "Like I said, you won't know a thing until you show yourself. I don't like peepers."

The voice raises a few octaves in a clear show of offense, "I'm not a peeper! And I can do as I please! Now I demand that you tell me your name!"

I suddenly catch a glimpse of a strange shimmer of movement in the air. Locking onto my target, I leap and tackle my quarry with a loud "Got you!"

I tumble forward –not minding my leg very well –with a now visible sparkling. The blue and white youngling looks dazed and utterly shocked, his bright yellow optics staring up at the sky above as though he's never seen it from the ground's point of view.

"You –NO ONE is allowed to touch me!" the highly polished sparkling shrieks.

"That's what you get for sneaking around like a little creep. And pipe down." I respond in an almost nonchalant tone, glancing around to make sure no one heard the little outburst.

I look back down at my captive, and am a little taken aback when I see the little prince's eyes glazing over as though he's about to cry. What, did high-class children never rough-house? Never wrestle with their siblings or the neighbor kids? They probably thought they were slagging untouchable, invulnerable to the touch of another.

"I-I am not a creep! YOU'RE a creep! Creep!" was the little one's next pitiful spat.

"You looking for a fight, kid?" I level my visored optics with him and get in his face, knowing a little snot like him has probably never even had another bot in his 'personal space bubble'.

In an attempt to divert the thought of violence that was anything but smooth, the blue and white one stutters, "K-kid? I'm not a kid! I bet I'm older than you are!"

Suddenly in the mood for banter, I return the weak challenge with a simple, "Nuh-uh."

The sparkling is simply baffled with this response. "How would YOU know? How old are you?"

"I'm not telling." I can't help but smirk.

Finally, the prince is silenced, save for a few little noises that were either the beginnings of comebacks or tears. Not wishing to see the little bugger cry, I stand up and offer my servo.

"Come on, then. You look ridiculous sprawled out on the ground like that. Tell me your name and I'll tell you mine."

The little Cybertronian who was clearly built to be a speedster someday leans up on his elbows and looks hesitantly at my offered appendage, "What if you've got germs?" he asks in a soft whine.

"That's a rude thing to say. Whatever happened to your high-class manners? Or didn't you ever learn any? You daft or something?" I say sternly as I bend over and pluck the other's servo, earning a surprised yelp as I heft him up to his feet.

"I-I have so learned! And I'm not stupid, I go to the best school in Iacon!"

"Yeah? Well, you could've fooled me." I sigh, growing tired of my company's overly sensitive, stamping-pede-like attitude. "Well? What's your name?"

"Me? I'm… Mirage." He responds, suddenly growing shy and fidgeting with his servos and pigeon-toed pedes. "What about you?"

Sensing that my company, Mirage, has calmed down, I smile and offer my servo once more, "I'm Nightbeat. Nice to meet ya."

Looking embarrassedly at my servo once more, Mirage slowly takes it and lets me do the shaking until I release it. He says in a formal voice, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Nightbeat… So… Where do you come from?"

I have to chuckle at the way Mirage makes it sound like I'm from another planet, but then I stop myself from directly responding, "I'm not sure if I should tell you. You might get me in trouble if you tell someone else." That statement alone is enough to get me into possible trouble, but perhaps Mirage isn't bright enough to figure that out.

Quickly, Mirage's optics light up at the chance of hearing a secret, "I-I won't tell anyone! I promise! I wouldn't even know who to tell, really." Unknowingly, he takes a step closer towards me as he speaks, clearly quick to accept a stranger as a companion.

I'm a little stunned by the final comment. Growing up in Sector Capri, I know every single life-form by name, personality, and what their favorite energon goodie is –as rare as they are unless you happen to know an Enforcer Academy student with connections. Deciding that Mirage is likely harmless, I decide to let him in on my home-sector.

"I'm from Sector D-12. Sector Capri is what we like to call it. You've probably never heard of it."

"Is it here in Iacon?"

"Yeah, it is."

"So… why are you here? Are you supposed to be?"

I almost have to laugh at the blunt question, as if I would so openly tell the other whether or not I'm doing something I shouldn't be. But, in all honesty, I don't know if my being here is against some book of rules. Not that I would care for the rules of the higher-castes.

"I was brought here by a couple of residents, a mech and a femme, when one of them found me hurt. They've been… generous to me, and I'm better now than I ever was. But hey, listen, do you know how to get out of here?"

"Get out? What could you possibly mean?" The door to the opposing tower that the Emirate left to suddenly opens, Mirage at once reactivating what must be a cloaking device, leaving me alone.

From the door comes the Emirate himself, with a look of wrath in his optics. I hear a light skittering leave my side, I assume Mirage is getting bad vibes from this mech and is taking his leave. With my bum leg, I can only stand my ground as the tall mech approaches me with wide strides, almost stomping his pedes on his way.

"I just received a com from your… mother. She's going hysterical right now looking for you." The mech glares daggers at me as he suddenly scoops me up in an awkward manner, clearly not having knowledge of how you're supposed to carry a kid, and begins walking towards the living quarters.

Finally having enough of this insanity, I snap and begin kicking my good leg and hitting my fists against whatever part of his chassis I can reach, "Let me go! You people are mad! You're not my creators! You can't keep me here! Let go!"

The Emirate halts his path forward and slams me against a wall, my pedes dangling and my intakes cut short by the impact. His voice suddenly loses its refined tone and an accent that sounds like something from the bad parts of Kaon emerges from his vocal processor, "Listen up, kid, and listen well. Your **mother** and I will not tolerate your little fits and outbursts. Make this mistake again and we just may have to wipe your processor clean so you can learn to behave. You understand me?"

Not waiting for me to respond to the little spark-to-spark chat, the Emirate picks me up once more and takes me back into the best decorated dungeon I've yet to see.

* * *

Minerva sits on the edge of her son's empty berth, staring at the opposing wall. It's been three solar cycles now. One, two, three. Three recharge cycles. She's been going about finding information all wrong. The residents of Sector Capri are too scared to say anything and the Circuits are too stupid to know anything. She does, however, have a name. Brawl.

Something's been going down at the warehouse the past few cycles; large, green and purple mechs have been arriving at the start of each cycle and have been fixing the place up. Perhaps the High Council finally saw what its shut-down has been doing to the weak economy in these parts? Minerva scoffs and doubts that's the case.

That's when she remembers something. Of course! How could she not have thought of it before? What better way to attain information?

Quickly opening a com link, Minerva anxiously awaits and prays for an answer.

"Hello? Minerva, is that you? It's been ages! " a young femme answers on the other end.

"Ariel, I need your help. I need to get into the Hall of Records." Minerva feels a sudden rise of emotion at the sound of her long-time friend's voice. She wishes she could just cry, but has to stay strong. For Nightbeat.

There is a slight delay in Ariel's response, her voice sounding worried, "Minerva, what's going on? Is everything alright?"

"Ariel… my son is missing."

There's a long pause on the com link. Ariel makes a few sounds as though she means to say something, but eventually can only respond, "…Primus… Nightbeat?"

"Yes. The Enforcers aren't doing anything to help me, so I need information to help myself."

Another pause, then Ariel's voice is heard with solid determination in her tone, "Come meet me at the Hall in two joors, Orion's shift will be ending. He can get us in unseen."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Hey everyone! I've finished my second day of school (eww school XP haha). This is a pretty long chapter, and hopefully it'll keep you guys happy till the weekend, or who knows I may even get another one out before then (you know how slow first weeks are, I might just be able to pull it off ^_-). Please Enjoy and Review!

To SEZwho94: Yes the irony indeed :D Maybe Nightbeat isn't so bad off X) And yes, Orion Pax it is! :D I've been reading Transformers Exodus and just had to fit him in somehow :D I've got more cameos planned out than I did in the beginning. Thank you for your reviews! ^_^

To MasterChiefAnderson: It's hard not to love Mirage (and hard not to love writing for him XD) Thank you for the stars, I've put them up on my ceiling and they glow at night, making me quite happy :D Thank you for your reviews!

To Vivienne Grainger: Your reviews continue to make me feel really good about my writing ^_^ I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story! Thank you for your continued reviews!

* * *

The Hall of Records is Cybertron's largest compilation of knowledge, where data is constantly streaming in and being categorized and stored properly by those of the Clerks Guild, a middle-caste collection of bots who upon their creation were chosen to fill this occupation; this is how all of Cybertron's current caste-system works. Orion Pax enjoys his work, enjoys knowledge in general. He does feel, however, that there's something more he could do; it is a tug that has been slowly growing into a passionate yearning in his spark. He keeps these thoughts to himself, however, knowing that such is considered heresy. There are, however, rare cases in which members from different castes became sparkmates, thus granting their sparkling –should they have one –the choice between two occupations. Orion Pax is not one of these exceptions, thus he is a mere data clerk, and suspects it will stay that way until he grows too old to properly function. The thought of becoming old and weak is not one that Pax enjoys.

"Minerva, it's been too long since we've last visited… I'm… very sorry for what has happened to your child, Nightbeat. We'll do all we can for you. I'm glad you've come to us for help. If there are any clues to be found in the Records, then found they shall be. We will accept no less." Orion's voice is soft as he holds Minerva's shoulders, assuring her that he means what he says.

"Thank you, Orion, and you, Ariel. I know how much you're risking, letting me into the Records, and I'm in your debt." Minerva is somber, her lost cycles of recharge clearly written across her features.

"There's no debt, Minerva, we're your friends. It's what we do." Ariel squeezes Minerva's hand from her place at Orion's side. She then turns to her love, "Alright. Let's see what we can find."

The trio of young bots moves silently beyond the great doors of the tall, dome-shaped building. At this late joor, there is only a skeleton staff on call, all of which are at the clerking desks, studying and storing the constant stream of incoming data.

Orion leads the femmes past the open area of the reception lobby and down a hall until they reach one of the data storage rooms. Avoiding the watchful lens of the security camera upon entering, they sneak down one of the numerous rows of tall data storage units. The entire room –floor, walls, and ceiling –emits a white glow as the clear surfaces of it expose the high-voltage cables within the innards of the building. A low hum resonates in the room from the immense energy that is kept at a constant degree. The huge data-storage units reach from the floor to the ceiling, their shiny, black surfaces speckled with flashing blue lights.

Orion reaches the user station of the data unit and hooks a cable from his servo digit into one of the jacks. A holographic vid screen is projected before them on the face of the black storage unit, an array of waves and codes flashing across it.

"I'll see what I can find on any recent Circuits activity." Orion Pax says with a distant look in his optics as trillions of data codes flash before them at speeds that would cause an organic's soft brains to erupt.

Minerva and Ariel wait on the edges of their pedes until they see Orion's brow ridge furrow.

"What is it?" Ariel asks.

"That's… strange. I can't find… anything. Nothing at all. Not even the public news reports that have already been broadcasted. It's like it's all been erased." Orion looks to the two femmes, their looks of confusion matching his own. "Perhaps we'll try something else. What did you say the mech's name was?"

"Brawl." Minerva is too tired to consider upchucking her tanks' contents at the ugly name. Who would ever name their kid 'Brawl'?

Once more, Orion takes on a faraway look in his optics as he browses through the immense data stream. Also once more, Orion's brow crinkles in absolute perplexity. The two femmes lean closer to him, as if they could somehow see the data that's passing through his processor through his optics.

"I've found numerous communication waves, all of which I assume either mention the name 'Brawl' or are from the mech himself… But they all appear to be encrypted and scrambled beyond restoration." The two femmes look at one another, hoping that Orion has a solution.

The Hall of Records is the greatest source of knowledge because it gathers anything that passes over what is called 'the Grid'. The Grid is like a web that covers Cybertron in its entirety; it cannot be seen, but it sees all. All vid feeds, broadcast waves, and even personal com link communications are captured in the entanglement of the Grid and are stored properly in the Hall. This Grid has in turn lead to the most in-depth recording of a planet's history ever to be created; that is, if one doesn't count the history of the Thirteen Primes, thought to be a myth, lost in the pages of time –lost in the pages of the Covenant of Primus.

For there to be two instances of either data completely missing or altered is unheard of, and instills a strong sense of concern in Orion Pax. How could this happen? Has corruption tainted the purest source of knowledge Cybertron has to offer? Orion is greatly disturbed by this revelation.

"Wait, I know something else that might work," Minerva suddenly speaks up with a new eagerness in her voice, "Can you find if there are any vid feeds from Sector D-12 near the shut-down factory?"

Orion quickly does as requested, and the holographic vid-screen comes to life with a feed of the outside of the factory; the chronometer set to the recharge cycle Nightbeat went missing. Orion fast forwards through the feed, the three of them watching as a large group of Circuits fill into the dead factory.

"Wait! Rewind it, right there—" Minerva holds her servo over her mouth as she sees a still shot of her child –Nightbeat. He's in the far upper-left corner of the screen, climbing into what looks like a large drain pipe outside the building that leads into the factory. After he disappears into it, the screen is empty of any activity.

Orion waits for a moment before he continues fast forwarding, and then plays it at normal speed as something occurs onscreen. The Circuits appear to be leaving the factory in a great haste, running as though it is for their lives. A large ammunition shell is seen bursting out the front wall of the building, looking like nothing more than a fast, grey smudge across the screen. After a long moment of stillness once more, two figures are seen leaving the building, the shorter carrying a brown sack over his shoulder.

Minerva feels her energon run cold at the sight. She feels her spark and temples pound with painful pressure. Ariel and Orion both look at her, and know that they've found their starting clue.

"That's him. Brawl." Minerva points her digit to the taller figure, "I know it is. I can feel it."

Orion zooms in the screen feed until Brawl's faceplates consume the entire image. His bright yellow optic casts an eerie glow onto the features of the three young bots huddled around the screen.

"So… where do we go from here? We have a face and a name… but now what?" Ariel asks; her frustration apparent in her voice.

"Wait… look here." Orion zooms in further onto Brawl's chest plate, on which a distinctive purple badge is adorned. "I know what that is, I've seen it a few times now. It's the symbol of the revolutionary, the Kaon Gladiator, Megatron."

Ariel scrunches her features in confusion, "Wait, a 'Gladiator'? I thought such tournaments are illegal… Did you say 'revolutionary'?"

Orion Pax's tone grows low and quiet, "He's the leader of a rising following who shares his ideals… They've been calling themselves Decepticons."

* * *

"Can I go outside?"

"Don't you mean 'may' you go outside?"

"… _May _I go outside?"

"Of course, darling, get some fresh air. But be careful on your leg, it has yet to heal completely." The femme pats me on my processor and pinches my cheekplate. I will myself not to bite the offending digits.

I walk out of the living quarters to the open-aired courtyard, looking around for any shimmers of movement in the air; this is about the same time the other cycle that I met Mirage. As much as I hate to put him at a possible risk, it seems that he's the only one who can help me out of this situation. Just for the pit of it, I walk to the far end of the courtyard and try opening the door into the large Community Tower, the centermost tower of what I've learned is called the High Tower Pavilions. As usual, the door refuses to budge for me.

I meander back into the center of the courtyard, sitting on the edge of the fountain. Laying back on its edges, I shut my optics and allow my other senses to fully attune themselves to the surroundings. Since the little 'spark-to-spark' with the Emirate on the last cycle, I've behaved to the best of my abilities; if I'm going to get out of this, I'll need both a functioning processor as well as their guards to be lowered. The femme, of course, doesn't suspect a thing. The mech, on the other servo, hasn't been paying me enough attention to really notice anything anyways.

This little stay hasn't been all bad. I've been polished up so bright that I can see my reflection on my own arms. I've been sleeping –quite comfortably –throughout the entire recharge cycles with no blaster shots or potential intruders waking me. I've been served three full meals a day –with snacks in between; my tanks have never been so full. I've also… been getting a lot of attention. From the femme. Lots of hugs and kisses –as much as they make me squirm and grimace. Lots of questions of how I'm feeling and how my cycle's been treating me so far.

She'll even come and tuck me in before I fall into recharge and just… talk to me. She tells me about when she was growing up; it turns out she has a sister back in Kaon. She mentions a third sister every now and then, but it sounds like she isn't around anymore. She tells me how happy she is that she has me. It feels wrong when she says that; for numerous reasons, of course, but mostly because it sounds like it's meant for someone else.

My sensors bring me out of my musings as I hear a light pattering of pedes off to my left in the direction of the Community Tower. I stay in my lying position, waiting for the steps to come closer.

"Hi." is all I say. I hear a brief scuffing –presumably tripping –sound and a hollow, metal 'thunk'. I can't hold back my smirk as I sit up to see the visible Mirage sitting on a sore aft-plate.

"You knew it was me, you've got well-adapted hearing sensors." Mirage smiles with reddening plates as he rubs the back of his processor in a fidgety manner.

"Or perhaps you're louder than you think." I lightly tease as I offer him my servo. I can see the conflict going through his circuitry as he contemplates the appendage for a short klik, then takes it and smiles in gratitude as I help him up.

"You're saying, then, that I would have to be loud for your sensors to pick up on me? What, have you got muck clogged in your audio sensors?" A challenging grin crosses Mirage's faceplate, one that I wouldn't have guessed one as shy as him could perform.

I quickly take up the challenge, a matching grin spreading on my features, "I thought I taught you a lesson the other cycle about being rude. Is it time for more etiquette training?" I crack my servo's digits for effect.

"Perhaps this time you'll be the one to learn something!"

I'm taken completely by surprise as Mirage tackles me down, mindful of my leg as the air is knocked out of my vents. This means war. An eruption of childish giggles and laughter comes from our vocalizers as we wrestle across the ground, dirtying up our polished frames. So, it would seem the rich prince found that he liked the little introduction to rough-housing from our first meeting; perhaps he isn't so snobby and above such play after all.

After a good long tussle, we find ourselves lying on the ground, basking in the warmth of the cycle's breezes and a newfound friendship. Mirage doesn't even seem to notice just how much dirt is covering his chassis. For me, this is how I usually look. I let myself linger in this childish obliviousness until I have to bring myself back to the dark reality of my situation.

"How do you get in here? As far as I can tell, that door to the Community Tower is locked shut."

"Oh, well, if you're a registered resident here, then all the doors will open automatically for you… but if you aren't, then they won't. Also, if you try following a resident through a door but aren't registered as an official guest, you'll set the alarms off. Security purposes, and all. I… get the feeling that your, ah, mech host wouldn't appreciate having security arrive?" I can tell that Mirage is smart enough to see that something very wrong is going on, and I have to appreciate the worry I sense in his vocalizer.

I consider what my presented options are. Sure, I could easily ask Mirage to open a door so I could set off the alarms… But there's no telling what the Emirate could do to me by the time security actually arrived. He could hide me, or even throw me off the tower if he was that desperate to hide my existence; the last option, however, I don't think would be likely. I've been slowly coming to understand the Emirate's motives. He's protecting his sparkmate.

The femme is convinced that I'm her child, and she seems to be pretty happy with that (false) fact. The Emirate is clearly trying to protect what's left of her burned out processor, and I assume I'm the answer. She must've lost a child or something and went bonkers afterwards. What the Emirate has been learning of me, however, is that I can be a difficult child if I want to be. What seems to make him angrier is that I'm smarter than he would prefer. This combination leads to the threats he's had to make against me in order to keep me in check; to assure his sparkmate's continued happiness.

"Yeah, he wouldn't be too fond of an event like that… Mirage, I need your help." I quickly check our surroundings to make sure we don't have any audio sensors listening in on us, "Now listen, you have to be very careful about who you tell this to, but I'm being held here against my will; I'm a captive. The Emirate has threatened to hurt me should I tell anyone or try to escape. But listen, I need you to go to the head of the security here, or even find some Enforcers, and tell them. But they can't let their presence be known until the last klik, because I don't know what the Emirate might do if he knows they're coming to get me. Can you do this?"

Mirage's optics reflect his complete shock for what I've just told him, and I have to shake him by the shoulders to get him to respond, "Yes, yes I can do that… I'll tell… I'll tell Ironhide! He's the head of security here, he'll take me seriously. Should I… should I go now?"

A part of me is a bit sad to so quickly send off my new friend; should things go according to plan, I may be returning to Sector Capri right away, never to see him again. "Yeah, do it as quickly as you can. And…" I'm not good with goodbyes. Living in my sector and seeing the same bots every day with no exceptions, it hasn't been something I've needed to do. "Be careful, Mirage."

Mirage nods and gives one last smile before on-lining his cloaking device and dashing off, leaving me alone in the courtyard once more. I bring myself heavily to my pedes, deciding that I'll stay in the courtyard until the security arrives.

The femme then comes out, a bit of a hurriedness in her tone, "Oh, sweetie, why don't you come in now? You're father is having company over very shortly and… and I would just rather that they not… see you." She comes over to me and scoops me up and heads for the living quarters, "Goodness, what have you been up to? You're an absolute mess!" She's unable to control her mirthful giggles as she wipes just a smudge of dirt off my olfactory sensor, "Well, why don't you go clean up, then I would like it if you went straight to your room. Your father's asked that you not disturb his meeting."

Upon entering the spacious living room of the quarters, she sets me down and goes on her own way towards another end of the building. I go in the direction of the wash room, but avert my path once I see that she's out of optic-view. This meeting may be something of interest.

* * *

Starscream lands in the courtyard, transforming in midair before landing on his pedes with the grace that comes with being a seeker. Skywarp teleports out of thin air and follows suit, landing beside his commander with a graceless thud that comes with being Skywarp. Starscream glares momentarily at his reckless underling before moving with a nonchalant swagger towards the awaiting Emirate of Kaon, earning a roll-of-the-optics from Skywarp.

"Emirate Xeon, how cordial it is of you to greet us upon our arrival. I trust you're enjoying your stay in the great city of Iacon?" Starscream's charm is enough to veil the serpentine menace behind his smile.

Emirate Xeon, however, is not fooled for an instant as he plays the same game, "Yes, quite so, Starscream. And I see you've brought your comrade, Skywarp. Is Thundercracker occupied elsewhere? I thought Seekers preferred to fly in trines." It is common knowledge amongst those who are in Megatron's elite circle that Starscream has difficulty controlling his blue subordinate. There's something of a rebellious streak through the quiet, moody flyer.

Starscream's smile turns poisonous as he internally ponders where Thundercracker, indeed, is preoccupied, "Yes, he is. I brought Skywarp along merely to act as a lookout for our meeting. Why don't we get on with our business, then? I wouldn't want to keep you away from your sparkmate, Silhouette, for too long." Seeing that his strike has landed on its mark and makes the Emirate's optic twitch, Starscream brushes past him into the cooled setting of the living quarters. Skywarp scoffs to himself over the hissing contest and takes to the air, teleporting out of sight.

The Emirate follows Starscream through the quarters until they reach a large room that acts as a library, with half the room made of pure glass that curves to the shape of the tower while the other half has filled shelves built into the walls. The Emirate takes note of how many datapads seem to be missing from the bottom shelves; most likely the only ones that the sparkling can reach. Stopping, Starscream turns his back to the window, ready to begin.

"Megatron has requested that I give you an overview of where your _most gracious_ contributions are going, as well as our progress in those matters. The new subsurface stadium's construction is at its halfway mark, and already we're receiving high bids for entrance to the first Gladiatorial Tournament that will be held upon its completion. With a stadium in Iacon, we will be able to recruit and build our forces right in the heart of the High Council's turf; earning us a great advantage against their meager Elite Guard once we make our move. Thanks to your connections with High Council member Ratbat, our actions have gone completely under the radar thus far; he's gone so far as to delete anything and everything that may be used to track us from the Hall of Records." Starscream slowly paces from one end of the window to the other, never allowing his optics to leave the Emirate.

As Starscream speaks, Emirate Xeon opens a hidden compartment in the bookshelf, earning a suspicious stare from the Seeker until he pulls out a bottle of fine high-grade. Pouring it into two cubes, he hands one to the Air Commander.

Starscream nods his gratitude to the Emirate as he continues, "The factory down in Sector D-12 is also coming along quite well, we expect it to be completed and filled with workers within the next two solar cycles." He waits until his host takes a drink to sip at his own.

"So quickly? I thought Megatron only just began its reconstruction three cycles ago." Emirate Xeon smirks both in a display of how impressed he is as well as in amusement at how openly Starscream watched to make sure he took a drink first. It is almost difficult to decide whether or not to trust someone who is so honestly and openly distrusting. Hiding distrust is one thing, but with Starscream… it was hard to tell what was going through that mech's processor at times.

"Oh yes, our Constructicons are the finest of their breed; they were the top engineers of Crystal City, did you know that, Emirate?" Taking another sip of his drink, Starscream pours on the charm as he brags about his somewhat snobby comrades.

Following the little dance of polite chat and compliments that he and Starscream often engaged in, the Emirate replies, "I had no idea. It is clear that Megatron's message reaches quite an array across the castes."

"Well of course, Emirate. Your support itself proves that." Starscream knows that the Emirate couldn't care less for Megatron's ideals, that he is only in it to satiate his own greed. The Air Commander has to admit, Megatron indeed has clever ways of doing just that. One wouldn't think that a mere Gladiator could find ways of obtaining enough credits to buy out an entire city of politicians and then some.

"It ain't polite to eavesdrop, kid." Skywarp says as he looms over a small, blue and yellow sparkling who has his audio receptor pressed against the door. The little one makes a run for it, but the Seeker thug is faster and scoops him up, pushing open the door to the library and entering.

Starscream's initial reaction is to glare at Skywarp's sudden intrusion, but his features slowly meld into a sugary-sweet smile as his optics fall upon the sparkling. He holds the pearly smile as he asks in what Skywarp knows is a tone that indicates his commander's slipping patience, "Well well, who do you have there, Skywarp? I don't think I've ever seen this little one."

Skywarp is quick to explain himself, "I found him listening in on yous two. He yours, Emirate?" Skywarp has to adjust his hold as the sparkling begins struggling and kicking. The kid even tries biting the Seeker's servos, but Skywarp moves them out of harm's way.

Starscream –keeping his glistening smile plastered on his faceplates –turns his processor towards Emirate Xeon, only to catch him glaring death arrows at the little one. "I wasn't aware you had… another sparkling, Emirate Xeon. How very interesting. If he is yours, that is." Approaching Skywarp, Starscream takes the child into his own arms, giving the little one a few pats on the back as he walks back over to his previous position. The sparkling ceases his struggles, a clear look of discomfort and fear freezing his features.

The Emirate turns to fix his glare on Starscream, stepping close to the Seeker, "Yes. He is."

Not feeling threatened in the slightest by the Emirate's seething glare (he's seen worse from Megatron), Starscream averts his attention to the sparkling, leaning back slightly until he is optic-level with him, "And what is your name, little one?" When the sparkling doesn't answer, Starscream chuckles lightly, "Oh, I see you're a shy one. And by the looks of all the dirt on your chassis, a bit of a wild child. I was the same way at your age. Skywarp, was there a reason for you leaving your post?" Starscream's demeanor seems almost sincerely content when he gives his attention to the child, and luckily for Skywarp it lingers as he is addressed by his commander.

Thinking for a moment, Skywarp remembers his reasoning, "Ah, oh yeah, yes, there's a bot approaching the front door. Looks like a medic." Skywarp prepares himself for a reprimanding from his superior for his daftness for not mentioning it a tad earlier.

Amazingly, Starscream's moderate mood seems to overlap his anger as he looks to the sparkling's braced leg, "I assume this concerns your sparkling's new leg? Really, Emirate, you must learn to take better care of your children. They do break so very easily." The child's frame stiffens as Starscream gently plants a kiss on his forehead and hands him to the Emirate.

Taking the sparkling into his protective arms, Emirate Xeon takes swift strides towards the door, glancing back over his shoulder, "Please excuse this interruption and wait here. This will be handled quickly."

"Oh, of course, Emirate." Starscream says with all his charm. Skywarp can't help but chuckle at just how wicked his commander can be.

Walking down the hallway and entering the living room to reach the front door, the Emirate briefly tightens his hold on Nightbeat in anger as he demands, "What in the pit do you think you're doing? I thought I told you to cease this kind of behavior. You've had your final warning." He tightens his hold greater still as the child tries pushing away from him.

Emirate Xeon opens the front door just as Ratchet is about to ring the com bell, "Medical Chief Ratchet, how nice of you to come."

"Oh, hello. I'd almost think you were expecting me with a welcome like that. I do apologize for coming unannounced, but I forgot to mention that it is vital that I come check up on your little one's progress every few cycles." What Ratchet fails to mention also to the Emirate is that he figured that by coming unexpectedly may enable him to catch the Kaonian couple off guard… he just wasn't sure what he was trying to catch them at.

"Of course, I understand. I appreciate your coming here to us, our business here in Iacon does not allow us the time required to bring our child to your hospital." Ratchet tries to hide his confusion as the Emirate continues referring to the sparkling as 'our child'; he had been provided with the name 'Wilder' by the femme, but he has yet to hear either of the creators use it.

"Of course, anything for a patient. Shall we?" Ratchet looks to the sparkling, who refuses to bring his bright orange visor up to meet his optics. Something wrong is definitely going on here.

"Yes, let's." The Emirate leads the medic inside.

* * *

A/N: Silhouette is the originally intended name meant for the cannon character Shadow Striker, but Hasbro was unable to do it due to copyright issues. I like the name Silhouette better and it's also not as corny sounding, so it will be the one I'm gonna be using ^_^ I've made it a point to have pure cannon characters in this story, even Wilder is a real character XD (but of course all mentioned Headmaster characters are supposed to be living Cybertronians in this story, not humans controlling huge robots _).


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Woo! Saturday :D here's another chapter! Thank you to everyone who's been keeping up with Nightbeat's story! You guys rock! X) Please Enjoy and Review!

To Vivienne Grainger: You know it's impossible not to poke fun at Skywarp, he's just a walking target XD glad I earned a chuckle (a big fat one, no less) outta ya ^_^ Thank you for all your kind reviews!

To SEZwho94: I'm glad you felt Starscream was really quite threatening during that scene, the part where he kisses Nightbeat on the forehead was actually inspired by a scene in the Godfather, where basically a character is giving another what I like to call an 'Italian kiss of death'. X) Thank you for all your awesome reviews!

Thank you to my other reviewers: MasterChiefAnderson, thepheonixqueen, and Crossblade's Switch!

* * *

Mirage speeds down the winding halls of the High Tower Pavilions Community Center, his uniquely designed air intakes enabling him to maintain a dead sprint the entire way. Glancing around to make sure he has no eyewitnesses, he transforms into his Ligier racer form and continues his way at speeds that leave heated tracks in his wake.

Things like this don't happen in the High Tower Pavilions. Sure, there's plenty of scandal, corrupted business ethics, affairs; enough to keep the posh locals satisfied at all the high-grade, swanky parties that serve as gossip centers. But kidnapping? Mirage had heard the rumors of the mighty politician of Kaon who had rented a temporary abode in the Towers for he and his sparkmate while they visited Iacon, and had heard how excited the high-born gossipers were to have someone from the 'dangerous' side of Cybertron coming to stay. He hadn't thought much of it, as hearsay was usually overblown by the time he heard of it.

He certainly knows better now. Kaon really is a dangerous place, its residents clearly responsible for the rep.

Mirage suddenly sees something thrown into his speeding path and transforms, attempting to avoid the obstacle. Big mistake. His bipedal form is sent tumbling pede-over-processor as his momentum continues onward until he meets resistance from a wall. Mirage's wild imagination is ignited with the possible explanations for what just happened: did the Kaon politician know that he was going for help? Did he send his Kaon gangsters after him?

Pushing himself up onto his knees, he is confronted quickly by the correct answer as he looks up.

"Where you off to in such a rush? Ain't you gonna even say hello?" A red youngling a little shorter than Mirage walks out from behind a corner from which the obstacle –a hollow metal bar –was thrown. He's joined by two taller sparklings, a pair of twins.

"I'm… I'm…" Mirage's vocal chords dry up as he tries responding with something brave, something to spook off his trio of bullies. They aren't of the High Tower Pavilions, not even close to being as high in the caste system as he. Cliffjumper, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker are of the lower middle-caste; they tag along with their creators who act as the Towers' maintenance staff. They also detest rich kids like Mirage.

A common theme, it would seem. Mirage has never been fully accepted by his classmates who are of lower castes but still high enough to enter the heightened education system. This rejection in turn has made him… bitter. Bitter and shy, a combination that his creators can't seem to understand. What Mirage holds himself back from telling his creators, however, is that everyone of the High Tower Pavilions –including his creators –are just like him; bitter and shy. They hide behind their wealth and spit rumors about like venom.

It is these traits that lead Mirage to attract this kind of current attention –the painful kind that Cliffjumper and his friends offer. Speaking of which, Cliffjumper seems to be upset that Mirage is apparently ignoring him; this is made clear as the red demon-child sends a balled servo crashing into the blue and white youngling's midsection. The two twins laugh in unison as the little prince tumbles back onto his aftplate.

"You're, you're what? Come on, aren't you supposed to be smart or something? Can't you even finish a sentence?" Cliffjumper proudly accepts high-fives from his yellow and red buddies.

Sunstreaker, the yellow twin who would probably fit in just fine with the High Tower Pavilions crowd due to his sky-scraping ego, scrunches his faceplates in distaste as he observes the fine layer of dings and dirt covering Mirage's chassis, "What the frag happened to you? You look like you've been rolling around in a scrap heap."

The golden youngling's red twin, Sideswipe, branches off of his brother's insult, "Yeah, what, did someone else already pound you for the cycle?" He beams as his comment earns a round of chuckles from his company.

Cliffjumper steps in as he further incites the group's violent mentality, "Maybe, but it looks like they missed a spot—" he leans forward and roughly pokes a digit between Mirage's optics, " –right there. Why don't we take care of that?"

Mirage feels a burning sensation welling in his optics, and is horrified as he feels tears pooling around the edges of them. Blinking his optic shutters quickly, he knows it's already too late, the damage is done. His weakness has been made apparent.

Leaning forward and pursing his lip components in a mock-blubbering manner, Sideswipe earns more rewarding laughter as he teases, "Aww, is da widdle pwince gonna cwyyy?"

Wait. Mirage doesn't have time for this. Nightbeat's in trouble! Nightbeat, the kid from the poorest sector that he'd never even heard of. The kid who ignored Mirage's snobby outer shield and offered his servo to him. The kid who he's only known for a few cycles but already… already is his closest friend. These clowns, they don't matter. It's time Mirage let them know just that.

Taking advantage of Sideswipe's position of leaning his exposed face right in Mirage's, the blue and white sparkling balls his servo as tightly as he can –and sends it straight into the leering kid's faceplates! A short cry escapes the red youngling's vocalizer, one of shock and a little bit of pain. The other two bullies don't even realize what has just occurred until Mirage is transformed and speeding down the halls once more.

Helping his brother up, Sunstreaker's expression grows dark as he takes the reins of the group, "GET HIM!"

* * *

Ratchet eyes Nightbeat's 'new' leg –currently adorned with a layer of dirt and plenty of scratches –with a raised brow ridge, "Do you recall that 'no running or climbing' bit I mentioned?"

Nightbeat keeps his visored optics locked onto the distinctive red symbol on the mech's chestplate, struggling internally to bear the growing tension in the white room that has been labeled as 'his'. He's not alone with the medic. The Emirate occupies one section of the room, standing behind Ratchet and watching Nightbeat's every move. He knows this would be an opportune time for the youngling to send out an SOS.

Apparently having grown bored in the library, the patient and medic have also been joined by two Seekers, Starscream and his subordinate, Skywarp. The Air Commander, too, has his optics locked onto Nightbeat, a ghost of a smirk playing his features. He looks as though he's contemplating how he's going to cook Nightbeat for dinner. Skywarp, on the other servo, just looks dumb as he fidgets in the quiet room.

Letting out a soft sigh at the sparkling's silence, Ratchet continues the check-up as he gently removes the front cover plate of the white appendage. Observing the circuitry beneath with what looks like a stern expression, he turns his optics up towards the youngling with a smile, "Well, it looks like your body is accepting the leg with speedier results than I was expecting. Now let's test out the electrical network." He pokes a few of the wires with a fine-tipped instrument of some kind, spurring the leg to twitch with every prod.

"Emirate." Starscream breaks the silence of the room, "You've yet to tell me how your sparkling sustained his injury." He turns the corners of his mouth component upwards as his eyes narrow.

The Emirate stares at the Seeker with an unreadable expression before responding, "He was caught—"

"On second thought," Starscream interrupts, "why don't we let the little one tell?"

Ratchet is suddenly aware of the unseen pressure that seems to be rising in the room, and quickly traces the source to the Emirate and his supposed colleagues. He looks up from his work to see if the sparkling is planning on speaking.

Nightbeat slowly looks up and meets Ratchet's optics. For a splitting moment, Ratchet sees a desperate, fearful cry pass through the youngling's partially obscured optics. The little one speaks up, "I can't remember. I only remember being found by… my…" A wave of heat rushes through Nightbeat's processor that brings a chill to the back of his neck cables.

Finishing for him, Emirate Xeon continues, "Silhouette found him in a channel… he had fallen in and had gotten his leg caught in a grate." The Emirate makes the mistake of not looking at Starscream as he speaks. A clear sign of his dishonesty.

Fully catching the signs of a lie, Starscream lets it slip, for now. "By the great Primus, how awful that must have been for you and your mate, Emirate. And for your child, of course." Starscream speaks softly with a melodramatic tone, the ethereal smile never leaving his lip components.

Ratchet has a way of sensing when a patient is in danger, whether it is from a virus that tests failed to catch eating away at one's internals or, like in this case, an oncoming threat from the external. Something is going on here, and the fact that a sparkling is involved –and seems to be the center of whatever this is –makes Ratchet's teeth grit. Thinking quickly, Ratchet stands and turns to the Emirate, breaking the stand-off that was taking place between him and the Seeker. "Emirate Xeon, I'm going to need to take, er, Wilder in for some more in-depth assessments. Preferably now."

Seemingly at the mention of the sparkling's name, Starscream's optics brightly flicker for a moment. "Wilder…" His grin becomes more apparent and grows further still as though he's just had an epiphany.

Suddenly looking unnerved, the Emirate's optics fluster from Starscream to the medic, "I thought –You said his leg was doing fine –"

"I said his body is readily accepting the new circuitry, yes, but I need to make sure the rapid acceleration of the new connections isn't a symptom of a complication, such as a virus. It would be in your own and your child's best interest to have a few tests run at the hospital. I don't mean to alarm you, but time is of the essence in situations like this. It's better to be safe than sorry, surely you understand." Ratchet turns to begin putting his medical tools back into their compartments in his medical kit, trying to appear calm as he internally writhes at having his back to the suddenly threatening bots.

Emirate Xeon is at a loss of words for a moment, knowing that there is no way he can take the child to a public domain, knowing that his sparkmate would lose her only lingering grip on reality if the one thing keeping her in her blissful delusion were to be taken away. "My apologies, Ratchet, but I cannot allow that. Is there no way to conduct the tests here?"

Enjoying the Emirate's squirming and sensing that there's a terrible secret floating around the sparkling's true identity, Starscream intervenes, "He said time is of the essence, Emirate. Why do you not speed your child to the hospital? Aren't you concerned?"

Getting the feeling that things are spiraling downwards in this situation, Ratchet quickly interjects, "Let me rephrase, Emirate: I need to take your sparkling now. His welfare is in danger and it is my right and responsibility to take custody of him and bring him to a facility where I can better help him." Turning towards the sparkling once more, Ratchet lifts him up in his arms and turns back to the Emirate, "It would be preferable if you come with me, or at least your sparkmate."

"You're not taking him anywhere, Medical Chief Ratchet. Give me my child." The room comes to a standstill as all the mechs present turn to see Silhouette standing in the doorway, her usual smile nowhere to be seen.

Before he can respond, the femme confronts the medic and takes the sparkling away from him, cradling him like a newly-sparked. "We appreciate your services. As my sparkmate said, Kaon will remember the kindness received from Iacon's Medical Department. As for the immediate attention you recommend for Wilder, you needn't worry. I plan to take him to the hospital –as soon as we arrive home, in Kaon. In fact, we'll be leaving within the cycle. Again, thank you, Medical Chief Ratchet." Her tone is unreadable as her expression retains neutrality.

Ratchet looks a little dumbfounded at just how quickly the tables have turned, but quickly adopts a friendly smile, "Of course, Lady Silhouette. It's a pleasure to serve. Do come and visit Iacon again sometime. As for you, little one…" He doesn't feel right using the name 'Wilder', it just doesn't seem to fit the sparkling, "…Take care, and be more mindful of that leg of yours."

Nightbeat can feel his internals twisting painfully with anxiety. No, he can't let Ratchet leave, he's the last hope he has. Something must have caught Mirage, else security would surely be here already. The odds are against both he and the medic, however. Two Seekers, a corrupt politician, and a crazy femme? A sparkling and medic don't seem to have a good chance with details like these.

He can't go to Kaon. If he does, Nightbeat will surely be lost forever, never to see his mother again, never to see Sector Capri again. The medic is gathering his things, heading towards the front door-

"NO!" Ratchet is brought to an immediate halt as he hears the sparkling's scream. Nightbeat struggles in the femme's hold, desperate to flee, "Don't let them take me! I can't go to Kaon! Please help me!"

"Wilder, what –what has gotten into you? Sweetie, stop it!" Silhouette's visage is one of utter confusion as she strains to regain control of her child.

Before Ratchet can even react, the Emirate is forcefully pulling him towards the entrance to the living quarters by the arm. With his suspicions confirmed by the sparkling's outburst, he protests the rough treatment by tearing his arm away and jabbing a digit towards the Kaonian politician, "Now, just wait a klik! Just what is going–"

The Emirate interrupts, "You'll have to excuse my son's behavior, he has a way of telling wild stories to get attention. It would be best if you leave now. Your staying will only worsen the situation."

Ratchet shoots a mean look at the Emirate, "Now if you think I'm going to believe that, you've got a pit of another thing coming! I think there's something wrong going on here, and if you think you're going anywhere with that child—"

Leaning on one hip rather casually, Starscream tips his head towards his subordinate, "Skywarp, why don't you help the Emirate out and escort his guest off the premises. He's causing quite a fuss, and we certainly don't want that for our gracious contributor."

Taking the cue, Skywarp disappears from his place at his commander's side and reappears directly behind the arguing medic, "You're becoming a bother to the boss, doc. Hows 'bout some fresh air t'clear yer processor?" And with that, the Seeker thug grabs Ratchet and the two depart in a brilliant flash of purple light and vapor.

For a moment, everything is still. The Emirate of Kaon stands facing an empty place where a Medical Chief once was, gathering himself as well as his thoughts. A femme sits on her knees with a look of pained confusion as she hesitantly reaches towards a sparkling who has escaped her grasp and now sits with his chassis pressed into the corner of the room; the little one is curled in on himself as though he's just learned he has a one-way ticket to oblivion. The Air Commander watches the layout from a comfortable position, taking it in like fresh high-grade and savoring the bitter sweetness.

Then, the silence is broken all too soon by Emirate Xeon's sudden rush towards the cornered sparkling. "Get up, Silhouette." He takes the femme by the shoulders and lifts her to her pedes, quickly escorting her to the door of the room.

"Xeon, wait, what are you going to do? Wait, Xeon! Don't!" The femme's tone raises in pitch and her intakes become shallow as her hysteria rises. She is abruptly lead out of the room as the door shuts behind her. She begins pounding her fists against the blockade separating her from her child, "Xeon! Slaggit, what are you going to do? Don't you lay a single digit on him you fragging son of a glitch! So help me Primus I will kill you!"

Emirate Xeon does his best to block out the weighty threats from his sparkmate, turning to face Nightbeat, who is now standing on his pedes, still pushed into the corner of the room but ready to make a dash for it. Starscream silently observes, curious to find out more of just what is going on.

"What you just did… was very… very… bad." The brooding mech fights to maintain steady intakes as he approaches Nightbeat. Not wishing for Starscream to discover the truth, he withholds himself from further confronting the sparkling for now, "Starscream, I apologize for my son's behavior. I assure you he will not be let off easily for this misconduct." Not once do his optics leave Nightbeat as he speaks, "Please tell Megatron that I am pleased with his progress thus far; and also let him know that Silhouette and I will be returning to Kaon. Perhaps we will arrange for a meeting there."

Understanding that the Emirate is politely telling him to be on his way, Starscream internally pouts at not discovering more about this mystery sparkling, but responds, "Children will be children, Emirate Xeon. Their actions may not always make sense to us, but sometimes… they may tell us more than we ought to know." Not feeling like confronting the frantic femme on the other side of the door, Starscream instead opens one of the tall windows and easily steps through onto a ledge. He looks back, "I will let Megatron know all that he needs to, and a meeting will surely be in order. Good luck with your sparkling, Emirate, and your sparkmate." Dropping off the side and transforming, the Air Commander is briefly joined by a purple and black jet that opens a portal for the two to disappear through.

Nightbeat stands with his back pressed into the corner, wishing that he could just push straight through the wall and be anywhere but here. The Emirate stands his ground, unflinching as his optics remain locked onto him. The femme's screams on the other side of the door are washed out by the wind coming from the open window, striking against Nightbeat's audio receptor like crashing waves from the sea.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Alrighty, this one's a short chapter. I thought it would be best to just let this little bit stand alone as a chapter rather than adding more to it ^_^ Also, if you go onto my profile, you can find a little music playlist that I've put together for Sector Capri; I always listen to music when I'm thinkin up my next chapter, and these are some of the main songs that inspire me ^_^ I also think they go well with the themes of the story :D Please Enjoy and Review! Hearing from you guys makes me wanna write faster! ^_^*wink wink*

To Vivienne Grainger: This chapter is a little different from the others, I'm curious to know what you think X) I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for all of your comments! You were quick to post one after the last chapter :D

Thank you to all my other reviewers: SEZwho94, MasterChiefAnderson, thepheonixqueen, and Crossblade's Switch!

* * *

We've finally done it, Dad. We've got the concrete evidence. A voice recording of one of Megatron's bots spewing their entire scheme layout, all safely stored in my processor. It's all been clarified. We weren't just seeing things, putting random pieces together that simply look and sound nice. The illegal Gladiator Ring really is moving into Iacon, and they've already begun hunkering down, making things cozy. And the Circuits gang of Sector Capri, they're in on it, too. Just like you said they were.

No one believed you. The Circuits, they're just a bunch of hooligans with tight fists and loud vocalizers. The Gladiators, they're so far away; all the way across the Badlands in places bots from Iacon never see, places that don't even occupy space in their processors. Places like Kaon and Slaughter City. Iacon is too far a walk for them. Iacon is untouchable. That's what they all thought, all those stuck up Enforcers and High Council members.

But we've finally proved them wrong. I know it's taken me a long time to figure it out, and I know you would've done it faster. You would've solved it before the Gladiators reopened Capri's factory only to enslave us. But I still did good, didn't I?

Dad?

Primus, Dad. I wish you were still here. You wouldn't have let us drift apart; it would've been me, you, and mom. Together.

I'm not sure if I've failed you. I have the evidence, and I've found the truth. I've finished what you couldn't. But I suppose I'm not really finished. Now I have to get that information to where it needs to go in order to bring justice to those slaggers' doorstep.

But I can't. I can't move. I can hardly breathe right now. I'm lying on the ground, paralyzed by some kind of toxin he injected into my circuitry. He, being the Emirate of Kaon. I'm not sure what's going to happen; am I to follow your pede-steps into the grave?

My processor is groggy, but I can hear the conversation the Emirate is having over his com link. His cool voice rasps against my audio sensors as the toxin sends stinging throbs across my neural network.

"Councilor Ratbat, I've something I need to ask of you. You've told me that your spy, Soundwave, is something of a master in the field of telepathy. I'm in need of his special services. Yes, it is very urgent. Yes, Councilor. Of course. Thank you. I appreciate this; I've a debt to fulfill to you." Cutting off the link, the Emirate slowly turns towards me. He observes me for a moment as I'm still sprawled across the floor with twisted limbs in the aftermath of our showdown; the one I clearly had no chance of winning.

Everything happened so fast, my optics are still flaring and crackling as my damaged sensors desperately try to readjust. Now that they're slowly returning to me, something comes to my attention: I can't hear the femme anymore. The window that the Seeker had opened is shut. It is deathly still in this room. I don't like it.

Breaching the silence, Emirate Xeon walks over to my position on the floor and kneels beside me, "Not very presentable like this, are you?" He clearly isn't expecting an answer from me as my vocalizer, too, is paralyzed. He lifts me up and takes me over to the berth I use, lying me down on it. He sits on the edge and looks at me.

He suddenly seems… like a very different mech. He's not just looking at me, but really paying attention to what he's looking at, as though he's meeting me for the first time. I'm not entirely sure what to make of this. He lets his perfect posture slouch as he leans his weight onto his elbows atop his knees, never breaking his observing gaze.

With an unanticipated tired look crossing his features, he sighs, "I don't even know your real slagging name. It was a bad idea calling you Wilder, but Silhouette will do as she pleases, won't she..." He turns away from me for a moment, I assume to grow angry at his sparkmate in the back of his processor. He sighs again.

He returns his attention to me, "Who the frag _are_ you?" He hesitantly raises his servo, as if to touch my face, but lets it fall back down. "You do remind me of him, though. He'd be about your age, now. He was a smart one, very energetic. A spark too kind to have inherited from me."

The Emirate looks away from me, turning his gaze to the floor as though a screen of his memories is projected onto it. He briefly chuckles aloud, "He also let everyone know just what was on his mind. A wit as sharp as his mother's, he had –and a processor to match. Hm, and he let us know it, too." For the first time, I see the Emirate smile.

Did you used to smile when you spoke about me, Dad?

The Emirate keeps his optics on the floor, the glow of his smile slowly fading as his memories leave him to the present. He looks back at me, almost with sadness, "I suppose it won't matter for much longer who you are. It won't matter what we call you, what others used to call you."

The Emirate stands and paces back and forth for a moment, his frame appearing rigid. He stops for a moment with his back to me, then turns towards me and almost sounds as though he's pleading, "You're probably not too fond of the idea right now, but we'll take good care of you. Wherever you came from, it won't be able to hold a light to the life we'll give you. Kaon does have its differences from Iacon, but you'll never look back when you see what we have to offer you. It'll just be the three of us, and you'll be the center of our world." He lowers to his knees beside the berth, grasping my small servo in his large one.

He looks desperate as he searches my visored optics with his own, trying to see something; trying to find anything. Then, as if coming back to reality, he slowly drifts down from his high rush of emotions; lowering his processor to rest face-down beside me. He takes a moment to gather himself before raising himself back to his pedes, his half-shuttered optics looking anywhere but at me.

That's when the door com chimes. The Emirate nearly jumps as he is still recovering from what just happened. Taking one last look at me, he leaves the room, "That must be Soundwave. Do try to behave."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: **ATTENTION! **To all my readers: I've set up a **DeviantArt** account and will be posting some Sector Capri artwork up later today! I'll put the link to my profile (RadioJane) on my Fanfic page once I've got work posted! Please check it out! ^_^ also, I'll be editing some early chapters today, so my story may alert you more than once, just ignore it. This is the only chapter for today ^_^ Please Enjoy and Review!

To thepheonixqueen: haha, I think I could use one of those pillow forts myself X) don't worry, we'll be getting some humor back in this story soon ^_^

To Vivienne Grainger: The scene in this chapter with Soundwave was actually the first one I thought up for this story and was inspired by a weird half-awake half-asleep dream I was having O_o lol, Soundwave's gettin in my head! XD

To SEZwho94: The Emirate only appeared in a few short panels of the War Within series, so there really isn't much to base his personality on, giving me a lot of wiggle room to make him however I want ^_^ I'm glad you enjoyed seeing this other side of him, I was really getting into writing him for that chapter :D

Thank you to all my reviewers! ^_^

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Minerva sifts through the hard-copy report drafts that her sparkmate had left behind. She has found only diminutive evidence of the existence of this 'Brawl'; it seems her sparkmate saw him quite often traveling alongside another Gladiator designated 'Barricade' who collected the Circuit's quarterly loot stash. A brief psyche description revels that the large-statured hard hitter has tunnel vision, is easily triggered, has impulsive tendencies, and is scary obsessive over whatever he sets his sights on. It is confirmed in the reports that he is, indeed, connected to the Kaon Gladiator Ring.

The reports begin to lightly touch upon findings indicating a possible location at which the Kaon thugs are stationed right here in Iacon, but it appears that some of the files are missing; either that or her sparkmate never wrote them down on a datapad and instead trusted his processor to store what evidence he'd gathered. Nightbeat was the same way. No, Nightbeat _is _the same way. He still is. He will be. Always.

What now? Without any clue as to where the Kaon Gladiators –including Brawl –are and possibly where Nightbeat may be, where does she go? Minerva has never had a knack for mysteries –she had a hard enough time taking 'reading comprehension' tests back in school. That was her sparkmate's job, and the talent has been passed onto their son. But she can't let the trail run cold. There must be something more, somewhere –

Minerva's com link suddenly interrupts her thoughts with a ping. Touching the link button on the side of her processor, Minerva forces herself to sound normal, "Hello?"

"Minerva, this is Prowl. I tried finding you at your residence, but the place is empty. Are you alright?"

"Prowl, yes, yeah I'm fine. I'm staying with a friend right now, it's… not safe in Sector D-12 anymore." Her use of the official name of her home sector keeps the pain of leaving it at bay.

"Yes, I've noticed. The factory is running again, and I have the feeling its workers didn't choose to fill the job positions on their own. My superior, however… has told me to step away from that matter… but listen, I've been doing my own digging around, trying to find out anything on what may have happened –where Nightbeat may be. It's the strangest thing though –"

"There are no traces of the Circuits within the Archives." Minerva finishes, assuming the young Enforcer had come to the same conclusion as she and her friends.

"Yes, exactly. Minerva, it isn't safe to communicate over a com link, can I meet you somewhere? I think I've come upon something that may freshen up the trail."

Minerva feels a rush of anticipation race through her energon lines, "Yes, absolutely. Let me think… how about at the fountain in the courtyard in front of the Hall of Records?"

"I'm on my way." Before the link is even cut, both parties are on their pedes and making their way towards their target.

The grand courtyard reaching out from the front face of the Hall of Records is a common place for use as a communal destination, whether it is by politicians or common bots. This is an advantage for someone who wishes to meet in secure privacy –there's no shelter like that of a crowd. One's voice, especially if kept at a low decibel, is lost amongst the social murmurs that blend into a single body of rippling sound.

Within the current crowd, two new forms enter and snake their way through until they simultaneously reach an ornate fountain made of burnished copper-toned metal that almost seems to let off its own light. Prowl and Minerva are silent for a moment, their faces reminding the other of the one they've both been searching for; Nightbeat. Stepping forward, Prowl lightly embraces the femme briefly before getting down to business, staying close to her so they can be assured of their privacy.

"As you said before, there seems to be a gap –an intentional one if I ever saw one –within the Archives of the Hall. However, upon looking through the Archives within the _Academy's_ system, I actually found some of your late sparkmate's reports. Whatever –or whoever –wiped the Hall of Records' collection of material relating to the Circuits and Kaon Gladiator Ring wasn't thorough enough. In his reports, your sparkmate never used the actual term 'Circuits', instead he deems them as the 'Capri Minors'. I presume this small detail lead to the preservation of his reports." Prowl's optics constantly scan the surroundings as he speaks in a low key.

"He always preferred using his own nicknames…" Minerva lets herself smirk for a moment, "But Prowl, I also have drafts of his reports, but I seem to be missing quite a few. They mention some of the Kaon Gladiators that I know took my son… I was able to get into the Hall and find a vid feed that showed two Gladiators –Brawl and Barricade, I've learned –leaving the factory with Nightbeat. Orion –my friend who's a data clerk in the Hall –told me that the symbol the two were wearing was that of a new-forming group called the Decepticons, a group mostly consisting of Gladiators from Kaon and the Badlands."

Stopping for a moment, Minerva realizes something, "You… believe my sparkmate's reports that connect the Circuits to Kaon? You're so by the books and 'up-to-speed'… I wouldn't have thought that you would believe a thesis that has been so vociferously refuted."

Bringing his optics to meet Minerva's, they betray nothing but how genuine he is when he speaks, "I may be 'by-the-books', but I'm no fool. Your sparkmate's findings ought to have been enough to have justified a sting operation to wash out both the Circuits and the oncoming Gladiator Ring. I realize how the system works, how the 'little bot' who goes off on a personal crusade for the truth is usually crushed by the majority who would rather believe everything is fine; they would rather deny the facts than admit that they're wrong." Prowl sounds as though he speaks from personal experience, a kind of experience he plans to put an end to once he's the top bot in charge.

Bringing the conversation back to what is more important, Prowl continues, "In the reports I've found the location in Kaon at which the Gladiators reside, a place called 'Kolkular'. I'm not too sure what that information can do for us right now, as Kaon is far away and we don't know if this 'Brawl' will even be there… but it's a start."

"Kolkular…" Minerva suddenly jumps when once again her com link pings. Assuring Prowl that she's okay with a light touch to his arm, she activates the link, "Yes?"

"Minerva." Orion Pax sounds as though he's struggling to keep his voice calm, "I believe we've found your son."

* * *

The enigmatic mech who has joined the Emirate and me indicates for the Kaon politician to lie me down across one of the loungers in the living room. Still no sign of the femme. Perhaps Emirate Xeon 'calmed her down' with the same drug he used on me. Returning my attention to affixing my senses to keep track of where the new bot in the room is, I can feel him looming over me; I'm unable to see him, however, in my current state of paralysis.

"Laserbeak, eject." I hear a shifting of gears and a loud click, followed by the sound of a small Cybertronian transforming. "Operation: data elimination."

I quickly get over how cool the mech's monotone voice sounds when I realize just what it is he's saying. I hear something deftly cut through the air, and in the next moment I have a strange, winged Cybertronian creature perched atop my chest. My first instinct it to try to shake it off, and I'm pleasantly surprised when I find that my motor abilities are slowly returning to me. I'm brought to a complete halt from my wiggling, however, when a large, cold pair of servos cups the sides of my processor and face, drawing a surprised yelp from my vocal chords. Against my will, my chassis suddenly straightens and becomes rigid.

The winged creature sitting on me leans in close to my face as its beak begins emitting an eerie red glow. I can just barely hear a single tone emitting from the beak as well. It's… almost… soothing… The servos holding my processor suddenly feel warm, almost like a kind embrace… My optics grow heavy as recharge tugs at their shutters. The red glow is nice. I like the red glow.

That's when I feel… another presence… in my processor. I can't seem to figure out who or where it is, but I instantly kick up a firewall to prevent the intruder from coming any further. I have important things in my processor, precious memories that I couldn't bear to loose, images of my experiences and of others that have made me who I am. I'm going to protect it with all that I've got.

Although my physical self is at a peace more absolute than anything I've ever felt, I bring my mind to ready alertness. The red glow still attempts to lull me into a blissful daze, but I try my best to fight it. Someone is trying to get in. My first firewall is breached as though it wasn't even there, and I desperately try to find and eliminate this unseen entity with my neural security systems. To my horror, the securities are shut down faster than I can activate them. I throw up more walls, completely surrounding my entire self in a fortification of solid will.

One by one, the walls are breached as the presence grows closer; bringing with it a strange warmth that means to sooth me into submission. For a splitting moment, I come back into full consciousness and find the face of the mysterious new mech – 'Soundwave' –hovering over my processor, his yellow visor shining with more intensity than the red glow emitting from the creature's beak. I also find that my chassis is jerking in convulsive fits, making it clearly difficult for the winged Cybertronian to keep its place on my chest. I feel the Emirate take hold of my legs, trying to hold me still.

Falling back into the deep venue of my mind, I find that the presence has one more wall to go through before it completely enters and has total access to everything I am. No! It tries fooling me with soft tones of seemingly gibberish phrases and promises of comfort, but I get the feeling it's only promise is that of oblivion! I'm utterly cornered, all my precious memories trapped within my own protection with nowhere else to go. I have to think, I have to act! Wait, what if I replicate myself? I've heard it can be done, what if I hide a copy of myself-

"AAAAAAAH!"

"Process: complete." Soundwave slowly releases the sparkling's processor as he brings himself back to the physical plane. "Laserbeak: return." The creature squawks in obedience as it launches itself into the air, transforming into a rectangular data-recording unit and entering its master's open chest compartment. Soundwave stands, briefly looking down at the petrified expression frozen onto the child's faceplates.

"Then… it is done?" The Emirate himself seems shaken from the sparkling's sudden scream, also standing.

"Subject's processor: extracted of all memory data. Still accessible: personality component, intelligence component, necessities for survival and basics."

"So… it will almost be as though he's just had a bump on his processor and can't recall anything of his past or identity?" The Emirate gets that dirty feeling he usually has when taking a bribe or dealing in corrupted politics. This, however, may be the worst of all his dealings combined.

"Correct." Soundwave remains where he is standing, dutifully awaiting anymore questions his employer's colleague may have.

"Is it possible for him to ever regain his memory? Could it ever come back in dreams or perhaps with time?"

"Negative. Data has been completely destroyed with zero percent of traces. Chances of restoration: impossible." When the Emirate is silent and stares at the sparkling with a dazed expression, Soundwave prompts, "Recommendation: finish process of identity change before sparkling awakes. Confusion will be high as it is."

The Emirate brings himself out of his funk, "Yes, you're right. Thank you for your services, Soundwave. Be sure to give your lord my regards." By 'lord', the Emirate, of course, means Councilor Ratbat. He is unaware of Soundwave's other profession as Megatron's master spy, and will remain unaware.

With that, Soundwave leaves the quarters and the Tower Pavilions unnoticed. Emirate Xeon is now alone in the room with the nameless child who is in a deep stasis brought on by the trauma of a processor wipe. He lifts the youngling into his arms and heads for the wash room, the easiest place to apply paint without making too much of a mess.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Hey guys, this here's a short chapter, but I'll be getting out another one in a few hours! This is another short bit that just needed to stand alone as a chapter. Also, I've put up more work on my art profile at DA! You can find the link on my profile X)

Thank you to all my reviewers! And ps: sorry SEZwho94 about posting late! D: busy day yesterday

Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

My name is Nightbeat.

It has been seven Meta-cycles since I was created, my spark pulled from the Well of Allsparks.

I have a mother named Minerva. My father is offline.

I miss him.

I live in Sector D-12, but we call it Sector Capri; it has a nicer ring to it, I think.

Just the other cycle, I was taking a walk through the sector. I heard a pretty femme whistle a tune I'd never heard but would never forget. I saw other kids playing in an alleyway. Things were peaceful.

I know many bots, but have only a few close friends; that's the way I think it should be. Prowl goes to the Academy and is always worried about me. Siren is still pretty little, but I think he'll make a good partner someday if he's still interested in being a detective like me.

Like my dad.

Siren didn't know how to solve the colorful cube I gave him. I told him it didn't matter, it was all about one's perspective. Things don't have to be done by the book other's have written.

There's also Mirage, I just met him. He seems like a good spark, though. A little sour, maybe from being ignored or bullied. Bots are the way they are for a reason.

The case, I think I've solved it. The Circuits, the Kaon Gladiators, I pieced it all together. But how? I can't seem to recall how I did that..

What's been happening lately? How'd I meet Mirage, isn't he a high-caste kid? There's no way I met him in Sector Capri…

My name…. what was it?

That's not important. I have to go home to see my mother…

A tune I'd never heard before but would never forget-

Didn't know how to solve-

I open the lockless front door to my home-

A small cube of energon with a note that has my mother's servo-writing on it-

I love her writing-

"Let her go!" I scream at my loudest vocal setting-

"Did you –did you get shot?" Prowl-

The look I see on Siren's face will surely haunt me for as long as I remain online-

That's right. Barricade doesn't make his collection runs alone-

My mother… who?


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Here's the chapter I promised :D Also, I have enabled** Anonymous Comments**, so all you readers who don't have an account at fanfic can now drop a note! This is the second chapter I've put up today, so don't forget to read Ch.16 :D Please Enjoy and Review!

To SEZwho94: here's some 'ore! X)

Thank you to all my reviewers!

* * *

"You've… found him?" Without warning, Minerva takes off through the crowd of the courtyard and heads for the tall building of the Hall of Records, "Orion, I'm here, I'm at the Hall. Come meet me!" She is unable to keep her voice down as she desperately navigates the crowd, a young Enforcer student trailing behind her.

Orion Pax is aware of the seemingly 'super being' abilities that a mother can attain should her child be in danger, but is quite perplexed even still with the fact that Minerva has somehow managed to get from where he last saw her –at Ariel's residence –to the Hall. "I'm on my way, Minerva." Leaving his clerking desk with little consideration of what the consequences are for abandoning a post during one's shift, Orion quickly walks to the front of the Hall, exiting out to the stone-like stairs. It doesn't take long to spot Minerva as she almost looks like she's about to light on fire with her haste; it appears she has a young mech with her, as well. Orion begins going down the stairs to meet her halfway.

Forgetting greetings for another time, Minerva rushes up to the red and blue data clerk and they grasp each other's servos in friendship, "Orion, where is my son? What have you found out?" The other mech slowly comes up the stairs beside Minerva but stops short one step behind just in case he will need to catch a fainting femme. He and Pax briefly nod to one another, though strangers, in greeting.

Orion keeps his hold on the femme's servos in order to keep her steady as he begins, "A call just passed the Grid, one to the Enforcer Department that is located by the High Council Pavilions. It was delivered by a Medical Officer named 'Ratchet', he reported a possible sparkling abduction. However, when the only evidence he could provide was suspicious behavior from the care takers and an outburst from the sparkling, the Department refused to look into it and suggested he go to the Security Unit located within the community at which this took place; the High Tower Pavilions. Now, from the given physical description of the sparkling in question, it sounds like Nightbeat to a T." Orion's optics barely shift from Minerva to the young mech beside her –an Academy student, perhaps –and notices the embarrassment that crosses his features at the mention of the Enforcer Department not doing their job.

"So he's –he's at the High Tower Pavilions; that place is immense, it could take cycles to search it all –but I will—!" Minerva's logic circuitry is clearly overcome by her desperation to find her child, her optics phasing out as she concocts her plan of action.

The white and black mech beside her speaks up, "Minerva, what we ought to do first is get a hold of this 'Ratchet'. If he's truly concerned for the sparkling he's reported, then I have no doubt he'll point us to precisely where he is." He goes up one step to be level with the femme and puts a servo on her shoulder to make sure his reasoning is heard.

Looking her young friend in the optics, Minerva regains her composure and wits; as well as her manners, "Yeah, yes, you're right. Okay, oh –Prowl, this is Orion Pax, Orion, this is Prowl." She makes a sweeping gesture between the two bots in presentation of one to the other.

"It's a pleasure, sir." Prowl extends his servo to the other mech.

Ignoring the slight sting from being called 'sir' by a bot who couldn't be _that_ much younger than he is, Orion takes the offered servo and smiles, "So you're Prowl, it's nice to finally meet you. Minerva and especially Nightbeat have spoken highly of you." He chuckles at the modest bow of the other's processor. Turning to Minerva, Orion begins ascending the stairs of the Hall, "Very well, I can find Ratchet in a spark-beat and we'll be on our way."

* * *

Ratchet stands in his office, looking out a window to keep an optic on his patients lying on the berths in his med bay. A look of pure distraught holds his features tightly, his processor set only on that child at the Towers. He cried out for Ratchet's help, but he was unable to answer that call. Primus, isn't there anything he can do? It seems like the moment he mentioned who exactly the suspected abductors were, the Enforcers wanted nothing of it.

Is this what it's come to? Foreign politicians being treated as untouchables? Surely Iacon would get a bad rep if their Enforcers came knocking on the door of their Kaonian guest accusing him of such a crime. Ratchet scoffs in disgust. Where will the corruption begin rooting itself next, his own hospital?

With the reaction of the Enforcer Department in mind, Ratchet assumes the High Towers Security Unit wouldn't provide anymore help; and those thugs that the Emirate had around doesn't make things any easier. Perhaps he ought to go to the Hall of Records and post something like a 'found: missing sparkling' board. Was that even legal?

Ratchet is brought to alertness as his personal com link pings. He doesn't recognize the signal, but answers, "Hello?"

A deep voice reverberates in Ratchet's processor as it responds, "Hello, Medical Chief Ratchet, my name is Orion Pax. I am a data clerk at the Hall of Records, and I heard your call to the Enforcer Department earlier this cycle."

Ratchet feels his tanks twist a little at the thought of all his calls being listened to, but ignores the feeling, "What is this about, 'Orion Pax'?" This mystery call could be either a good or bad thing.

"I believe we are concerned with the same sparkling. His name is Nightbeat."

* * *

Deactivating his cloaking device, Mirage peeks around the corner down the hall he just came from. No sign of his pursuers. Grinning smugly to himself, he feels a little ego boost in the fact that he just out-sped two of the fastest kids in Iacon, along with one of the slowest. Sure, he was invisible for most of the chase, but it still meant something. Right?

Returning himself to his current call of duty, Mirage takes a moment to get a fix on his location and where the Security office is in relation. That's when he hears what sounds like an oncoming meteor shower, coming his way! Activating his cloaking device once more, Mirage presses himself against the wall and waits for whatever it is that's coming.

"Alright, I want Alpha squad to take the west wing towers. Delta, yer with me, we'll be taking the east sector. Let's locate these bots before we find ourselves with anymore trouble!" The husky voice of the Towers' Head of Security, Ironhide, resounds through the spacious halls as a group of mechs make their way through in a rush.

Mirage quickly becomes visible and begins chasing after the bulky, red armored bot, "Ironhide! Ironhide, wait!"

Hardly slowing his charge, Ironhide shouts over his shoulder to the trailing sparkling, "Not now, son, we got some intruders here in the Towers! I'd like it if you'd git yerself on home, it ain't safe out in the halls."

Using the last of his energy to make one more burst of sprinting after the Security Head, Mirage frantically tries gaining his attention, "But Ironhide! I need your help!" Unable to keep up the constant running, Mirage slows and sinks to his knees, angry pools of energon gathering around his optics. "WAIT!" he screams in a high pitched tone, smacking his servos onto the floor.

"Just git yerself to somewheres safe, son!" Ironhide doesn't look back as he continues on, eventually leaving Mirage's optic range. He assumes the sparkling is just having another hissy fit to try to get attention.

Mirage sits in the center of the hallway, feeling utterly helpless and useless as the thundering pedes of the Security Unit fades into the distance. He shrieks in frustration as he bashes the metal floor with balled servos. Why doesn't anyone ever listen to him?

* * *

I stand in the open air courtyard in front of the living quarters, eyeing the fountain positioned in its center. I kind of want to go sit in it, my processor feels like it's on fire. I don't think my creators would like that, though. I take a quick look about, making sure I have no optics on me. Deeming the courtyard empty, save myself, I casually meander over to the fountain and put a servo through its curved stream. Testing the temperature, I stick the end of my pede into the pool at the bottom, wiggling it a little.

Quickly pulling all of my appendages out and taking another peek to make sure no one's watching, I throw the rest of my cares to the wind and completely immerse my processor into the falling stream of cool liquid. My intakes hitch for a moment at the shock of the cold, and for a moment… the freezing shock almost seems to… activate something in my processor. I see a fleeting but vivid image of a small, blue sparkling holding a cube.

I pull my processor out of the fountain and look around, making sure it was just a vision and not a real bot standing near me. The stillness of the courtyard suddenly disturbs me, so I put my processor back into the smooth cascade of liquid. To my disappointment, the image does not return, nor does any other come.

I ponder to myself what it could have been, that still shot in time. Perhaps he's someone I knew. Know. I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything ever since I woke up. My creators tell me that I fell into an energon channel and lost both a leg and my memory. I don't feel like I would be a clumsy bot. Sure, I suppose I wouldn't know one way or another without any recollection of the past, but… I just feel like I'm a more careful, precise type. Not that my current actions dealing with this fountain are anything of substance to go by.

Pulling my processor out of the fountain once more, I catch my reflection in the rippling pool of liquid. I suppose I should become familiar with myself if I'm going to make any progress in remembering who I am. I have dark blue face plates, a bright yellow visor, a dark red helmet, and a white chassis with a few dark red plates here and there. A strange scheme of colors, one that I'm not feeling very comfortable with. The fact that I feel this way doesn't sit right with me.

Looking at my servos, I almost think I've got a case of Cosmic Rust before I realize that I just have red hands. This is going to take some getting used to. But why should it? Even if I've forgotten everything, should I really be so completely unfamiliar with even myself?

Deciding that I'm not very fond of reality at the moment, I begin to step into the fountain when—I feel someone's optics. I pull my pede out of the fountain and turn towards the presence at the other end of the courtyard, ready to explain myself. However, when I see who is entering the courtyard, I stop.

It's a femme. One that I don't recognize. She's standing very still, as though she can't move. Her frame is slightly bent and her hands are slowly raising, as though she is about to catch something. Me, perhaps?

"Nightbeat?" She inquires, very softly. I look around the courtyard to make sure she's talking to me, and it would seem that she is.

* * *

A/N: Wanna see Nightbeat's **new colors**? Find him in my gallery at (dot)com (just replace the '(dot)' with a period X)) I've also got his G1 colors up ^_^


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Happy Labor Day ya'll! Hope you all have some good eats today X) Got a total of 98 hits on this just yesterday, new record for me! You guys rock! Please Enjoy and Review!

To Vivienne Grainger: hehe you're so nice! You certainly give charming comments XD Thank you for all of your comments!

To SEZwho94: lol, Nightbeat's a smart lil detective, give 'im time :D

* * *

The strange femme begins to slowly approach me, a whole mixed wash of emotions engulfing her features, so much so that I can't quite read her intentions. She is joined by two mechs and another femme at the entrance of the courtyard.

"Nightbeat, baby…"

I can't bring myself to respond, I have no idea who she's referring to. I slowly back away from the fountain, keeping my chassis and optics facing her as I step backwards towards the door to the living quarters of my creators; to safety.

"Baby," she speaks up, "Nightbeat, it's me. It's mommy, don't you recognize me? What have they done to you?" She looks me up and down as she slowly comes closer, pure sadness and horror growing on her features; horror for what she sees or horror at my backing away, I'm not sure.

The white and black mech standing beside her speaks, "Nightbeat, you're safe now, we won't let them take you away. It's okay now." He also begins a slow approach alongside the femme but slowly stops and lowers to his knees when he senses my growing discomfort. "I think he may be in post-traumatic shock. His processor may be tricking him."

The pink femme still at the entrance joins in, "Nightbeat, sweetie, you can come home now. You don't have to worry about the bots that took you." The blue and red mech beside her looks speechless, his mouth opening but shutting again.

What is all this? Do I know these bots? They keep calling me 'Nightbeat', but I'm Wilder… aren't I? I begin shaking my processor, this isn't making any sense. I need my creators, I need guidance right now, I'm so lost in the fog of broken and missing thoughts. I continue my backwards path until I come into contact with something –someone. I look up and see a dark blue and black mech.

"Daddy…" My voice breaks and I internally wince at how pathetic I sound, but this is all too much. I have too many bots telling me different things, calling me different names. I've only been awake for fifteen breems, and as far as I know that's how long I've existed.

My father, Emirate Xeon of Kaon, puts his servo on my shoulder and gently guides me to stand behind him. His optics are sharp slits as they fall upon our very unexpected guests, "Can I help you?"

The femme who had referred to herself as 'mommy' looks as though someone just ripped her spark out and crushed it. "That's… my… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?" She looks like she's about to charge us, but the young mech beside her as well as the other femme grab her arms to hold her back.

"Darling, what's happening?" I hear my mother come up behind us, peeking over my father's shoulder to see what the commotion is. "Who are these bots?"

Rather than answering, my father touches the com link on the side of his processor, "Security, I believe we have a group of intruders in our courtyard. Come immediately, they're threatening my family."

Threatening? I haven't heard any threats… Sure, there's a femme who's clearly having some kind of a break down, but she hasn't said anything about bashing our processors in or pushing us off the tower.

"NIGHTBEAT! GIVE HIM BACK! YOU GLITCHING FRAGGERS!" the femme kicks her pedes in a fighting effort to break free of her restraints, looking like she is going to tear the whole place down. This is a bad-aft femme, however she is.

"Xeon, she's trying to take Wilder! No, no not again, no –they can't take him, darling!" I'm surprised as it seems that a second breakdown case is starting up right behind me as my mother begins hysterically tugging on my father's arm, pressing my processor to her waist with her other servo.

Prowl, not very good with dealing with femmes –especially emotional ones –naturally finds himself turning his processor to look back at Orion Pax, "This is going to escalate very quickly, I'm sure Security is on its way. It's either fight or flight, Pax, and I'm not leaving without Nightbeat."

Nodding to Prowl and finally feeling his pedes move, Orion approaches the front door of the living quarters, keeping a distance, "That child you have is not yours. Return him to his mother, now, or by Primus we'll take him back the hard way." Prowl is impressed with how even yet threateningly low Orion's voice is. There's a leader in this one.

The courtyard comes to a deathly stillness, bringing a whole new kind of fog to my processor as I hold my intakes. I'm not… theirs? But… I woke up here, in their care, they kissed my cheeks and told me that they… love…

I feel time come to a standstill, and for some reason, my logic programs are contemplating the weight of both the claims of my… supposed… creators, as well as that of this new group of bots. The points for having the greatest number of testimonies, of course, lean in the favor of this group. Both parties, however, have provided a name for me and have made clear that I am theirs, but I have no evidence to support either. My frame does somewhat resemble that of the femme, but she has a lot of scratches and dirt across her chassis; mine does not. She also has quite a colorful vocabulary along with a bit of an accent, like she comes from a rough area. This indicates that she lives in a very different society from the one I appear to originate from. But I don't think I've even spoken aloud enough to even catch an accent of my own, if there is one; and a paint job is easy enough to-

No, this is horrible, how can I think this way? Am I really so cynical, so quick to question the world around me and pick it apart? These are my creators, they've taken care of me, and they love me. How could I betray them like this, even if only in my thoughts? I grip my father's servo more tightly, trying to assure myself that he's real, that he's the one I should be seeking protection behind.

Time returns to its normal course as a new eruption of mechs enter the courtyard. The group of bots are quickly surrounded by who I assume is the Security Unit of this community. The officers raise their blasters to the apparently criminal crew.

A bulky red Security officer speaks, his blaster centered on the tall, red and blue mech that had addressed my father, "Any injuries, Emirate?"

"None, it would seem you came just in time. I am surprised that something like this could happen in one of Iacon's most highly regarded communities." My father's subtle jab lands square on its target, making the red Security bot wince slightly.

"Alright, now, just come along nice an' quite like, and we won't be havin' no trouble. Y'hear?" The mech takes a double-take at the white and black bot of the group, "Primus, yer an Academy student! What in th' Pit are you doin' breakin' into here?"

The young mech straightens his posture, clearly unashamed of his actions, "That sparkling the 'Emirate' has there is not his, he was taken from Sector D-12 a few cycles ago. He is her son." He gestures to the distraught femme beside him.

Ironhide is positively stricken by a big, fat streak of confusion at this two-sentence explanation/accusation. He doesn't take his optics or aim off the taller mech nor the student as he calls over his shoulder, "Ah, Emirate Xeon, would ya care to make some sense of just what's-"

"Er, Ironhide?" one of the other Security bots interrupts, "The Emirate is, um, gone."

Ironhide quickly jerks his processor to look back to see a shut door to the Emirate's rented living quarters, "-The slag-?"

Suddenly, an EMP burst surges through the courtyard, as well as a number of the surrounding towers. All electricity is cut and the Security Unit and intruder civilians alike are enveloped in darkness. All at once, panicked voices and angry shouts erupt until the sound of huge blades slicing through the air is heard, muffling the ruckus.

Minerva is able to see a huge, black chopper leaving from the back side of the living quarters, perhaps where a landing pad is located, "NIGHTBEAT!"

* * *

"The EMP burst was a nice touch, Blackout. It was indeed preferable for our getaway to be as subtle as possible, despite the little quarrel that decided to interrupt our proceedings." My father chuckles to himself as he speaks with the huge, aerial Cybertronian that we're currently occupying the alt-form of.

The only response is a low hum, not one for many words, I suppose. Why would we need a 'subtle getaway'? Aren't we esteemed guests of Iacon? Why would we need to leave in such a manner? Has something gone wrong?

My mother, sitting beside me, strokes the back of my processor and neck, "You look tired, darling. You've been through a lot, why don't you have some recharge? I'll wake you as soon as we reach Kaon airspace." She kisses my olfactory sensor and gently eases my processor to rest on her lap.

I let out a sigh in attempt to get rid of this strange weight I feel in my chest compartment with little avail. Turning my processor, I look up at my mother, my creator. I look nothing like her. Maybe I take more after my father? She catches me looking at her, and smiles warmly.

"Can I see your optics, darling?" She asks in a soft tone.

A simple request from a mother to her sparkling, but for some reason I find it to be a very personal one. Again, I'm disturbed by my internal reaction to my own mother. However, I do as requested and let my visor retract, exposing my bright yellow optics. I feel my tanks churn as I almost feel… violated. As if something like this isn't meant for her, but someone else. Someone I trust more than any other. How could that someone not be my mother?

Strange, I hadn't thought about it, but both of my creators have brilliant red optics. Why don't I? What if I was adopted? What if I was… taken?

The femme on whose lap my processor is resting smiles just for me, and I have to bring myself to return the gesture, though with slight uncertainty. That's when she begins softly humming a nice tune.

One that I can't recall ever having heard… but surely will never forget.. . ... .


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Alright guys, this here's a **Decepticon** chapter :D Hope you Enjoy! And don't be shy to drop a comment :D Also, I'll be posting the colored version of my Minerva et Nightbeat drawing on my DA profile sometime today or tomorrow X)

Thank you to my reviewers! ^_^ Your kind words are my fuel for writing! XD *glitter sparkle*

* * *

"So our dear Emirate has gone against our agreement, has he? What a pity. Without him in Iacon to keep the Council distracted, our operations may be discovered sooner than we would like." Megatron sits rather casually atop his throne, leaning to one side with his cheek rested on a balled servo.

"Oh, yes, Lord Megatron. Indeed, how terribly frightening it would be for the _big bad_ Elite Guard to catch us in our act." Starscream's melodramatic tone does not match with his dead-pan faceplates and rolling optics. The Air Commander does not like sneaking about in the shadows, wasting time. What Megatron fails to grasp that Starscream is quite sure he himself is an expert on is that they would surely grow in numbers more quickly if they were to come out into the open and declare their revolution now. Instead, they are building yet another Gladiator stadium and having to be light on their pedes about it. Starscream likes being loud and in one's face.

"It is **not **the Elite Guard that presents a problem in this matter, Starscream," Megatron's clenched teeth flash in the dimly lit throne room, "rather, it is simply that we are at a very critical point in our plans; one that must be handled with _patience_ and caution. To be found out now would be to lose any chance of constructing a firm stronghold in Iacon. Iacon is the Council's capitol, thus their main weakness. We cannot afford to have the foolish decision of one little politician bring our plans crumbling down."

Finally losing his short temper, as he usually does, Starscream protests, "This 'patience' and 'caution' of yours is only holding us **back**, Megatron! All we need to do is take control of Trypticon station –which I can _easily_ do with _my_ seekers –and we'll either take Iacon by force or wipe it off the face Cybertron! I speak for all Decepticons when I say we grow restless with all this waiting and careful planning! The time for action is **now**!"

Megatron let's his Second in Command finish his usual boastful antics and then allows the room to grow silent. "Do not question my ways, Starscream, or you will find yourself on the other end of them. You're a fool to even consider taking Trypticon Station now; it is dysfunctional at the moment with its transformation cog missing. Such an item cannot be easily restored." Megatron stays unmoved but shifts his optics when the double doors at the opposite end of the room open. Ignoring Starscream's searing glare, he acknowledges his most 'loyal' lieutenant, "Ah, Soundwave, you've returned. What have you been up to as of late, my Master Spy?" He directs a smile that could just as easily be that of a viper-bot about to strike towards the enigmatic mech.

Soundwave passes Starscream, also ignoring his attitude-filled posture with his servos on his hips, and stops before his lord, "I have information pertaining to a sparkling that the Emirate has come into possession of-"

Starscream's bitter pout instantly melts into a malicious smile as a new amusement presents itself, "Yes, the Emirate's new 'Wilder'. Lady Silhouette is rather protective of the little precious."

Megatron has to pause for a moment, and sees that Soundwave is –perhaps, under his visor and faceplate –just as surprised as he is, "What do you mean, a sparkling –named 'Wilder'? That's impossible." Megatron sneers cruelly at the Seeker, sensing that he is trying to play mind games with him.

"Oh, but it's true." Starscream, knowing that the ball is in his court, nonchalantly strolls past Soundwave with a smug swagger and again places his servos on his hips; this time in a challenging manner rather than an angry one. "I've seen him myself, held him even; such a seemingly gentle little one. He does, however, seem to have a bit of a temper. He began begging a stranger to save him from his supposed captors. Such an odd thing for a child to say, wouldn't you agree?"

Megatron is internally perplexed with this new revelation, but concludes that it would explain the Emirate's rash actions of late. Clenching his jaw and gripping the arm rest of his throne in an attempt to hold sway his growing fury, Megatron inquires, "And why has it escaped your little processor to tell me this until now, Starscream?"

Starscream's visage is painted with innocent curiosity, "Hm? Oh, well I didn't think much of it, really. Besides, I thought surely you would already know, thanks to your '_Master Spy'_." He looks Soundwave up and down with distaste, "But it appears that he's just now finding out himself." Turning his back to Megatron and beginning his way down the hall-like room unexcused, the Air Commander is already planning his next source of entertainment, "If you'll excuse me, Lord Megatron, I've other matters to attend to."

Growing angrier still at his Second's outright disrespect, the dark Gladiator Champion decides to throw his own daggers, "And would those matters include locating your missing underling, Thundercracker? Really, Starscream, you can't truly believe you can go about telling me how to run my army when you can't even control your own trine member." His sharp smile grows as he sees Starscream visibly stiffen at the mention of his blue subordinate but continues his path to the doors.

Stopping at the doors and looking back with hateful red optics, the Seeker responds, "At least the soldiers under _my_ command can think for themselves and aim to do more than lick my pedes." With that last nasty remark, the Air Commander pushes the doors out of his way and leaves.

Megatron's bored expression indicates that the attempted stab didn't land its mark, "Hn. Now, Soundwave, this… child. What have you learned of it?"

"The Emirate requested my services via the Senator in the past cycle. He wished for the sparkling's processor hard drive to be wiped of all memory files in order to create a moldable individual into their son's image. I found information of the sparkling's origins, among other things of interest."

"Go on." Megatron demands.

"The sparkling somehow obtained a large databank of knowledge relating to our activities in Iacon, including that of the Circuits; information that could not be attained by the general public or even the government. He had been watching our activities particularly in Sector D-12."

Megatron's brow furrows in curiosity, "How is that possible? A mere child?"

"He is the offspring of The Capri Detective."

* * *

Starscream meanders into the Recreation Room of the subsurface hide-out base located in Iacon, his optics searching for his prey. As he had assumed, his quarry is nowhere to be seen. Walking through the spacious room and drinking in the fear he senses emanating from his weaker comrades at his presence, the Seeker passes through the other entrance to the room and follows the adjoining hall until coming to a more secluded area used for more formal dining occasions.

The large, cold room is barren save for one long, solid metal table along with four rows of chairs around its edges. With the little light that is provided, the silver surfaced table appears to glow in the blackness of the surrounding room. Seated at the far end of the table is a very small Cybertronian. A child.

Starscream leans against the entrance to the room, smiling at his unaware victim before announcing himself, "Curious. Even among your own kind, I find you here as a loner."

The youngling hardly looks up from his cube of Energon, unimpressed, "Go away, little Seeker. I prefer my solitude uninterrupted."

Scoffing at the child's bold words, Starscream brushes it off as he leaves his place leaning in the doorway and takes a seat at the end of the table opposite of the child, "I never cease to be amazed at how an army of unsociable recluses manages to remain functional. How is it to operate if no one wishes to speak or see another?" He receives only an annoyed glance from the youngling. "Tell me, Wilder, why did you leave home?"

The child glares at the Seeker, remaining silent.

Standing, Starscream begins walking down the row of dull chairs, the tips of his servos' digits dancing across the tops of them. "Why leave the lap of luxury you so clearly dwelled in for the gritty, uncomfortable life of a rising revolution?"

Deciding he's had enough, the sparkling speaks up, "You're the town gossip, surely you would know without needing to hear it from me."

"Oh, but I haven't. You're so quite, Wilder, you won't tell anything to anyone. Save Lord Megatron, of course. Are you so ashamed of your reasons that you won't tell me?" Starscream retains his smile, disguising the venom beneath the surface.

Although a quick-witted processor, the small Cybertronian is still young and naive enough to fall into the Seeker's trap, "I'm ashamed of nothing I've done. I have shame only for my creators." Looking down at his cube of Energon, he grips the container tightly as he continues, "My 'father' is nothing more than a gluttonous worm. He makes me sick. He's so weak." The child despises anything that is not pure might, thus his worshipping of Megatron.

"And your mother, Wilder?" At this point, Starscream is now standing behind the child's chair, resting his servos on the head rest.

Not feeling intimidated in the slightest by Starscream's looming frame, the little one is silent for a moment before answering, "She's just as weak."

"**Really**, is that so? As I recall, Lady Silhouette has quite a history back in Kaon; and a record to go along with it. She used to run the city back in her glory days, back when she ran with a very different crowd. Did she ever tell you those stories, Wilder? She had enough ties and criminal allies to take control from Kaon all the way to Slaughter City if she had so desired. But I suppose things changed when she met your father, Emirate Xeon." Starscream is sure to use the names of the child's creators to try to draw a reaction from the seemingly cold youngling.

The child does not speak.

Feeling that he has the child right where he wants him in his little game for laughs, Starscream inquires, "With that being said, is it really that _she's _weak? Or is it that she incites weakness in you?"

The youngling stands on his chair and turns to face the Seeker optic-level, "Leave me alone! Go away!"

Impassive to the outburst though annoyed with the child's disrespect, Starscream's features turn to ice, "You should not wear your feelings on your wrist, Wilder. They'll be broken by others that way." He pushes the sparkling off the chair, the little one landing on the table on his skid plate. "I came here to pass on what may be of interest to you. It involves your creators."

"I don't care, then." The sparkling's words are betrayed by the uncertainty that is evident across his faceplates.

Catching this, Starscream responds, "But I think you do. As you know, your creators were here in Iacon to lend their assistance in the construction of our new stadium."

"They're no longer here?"

"No. They've returned to Kaon, against Megatron's will, no less. But they didn't leave alone. They had a third with them." Starscream speaks nonchalantly as he turns his back to the sparkling, strolling about the room as if something more interesting was draped across the barren walls.

The child's faceplates begin darkening as the Seeker withholds from saying anymore, knowing that the flyer is trying to drag him into one of his processor-fragging games. Losing his short temper, the young one speaks with apparent frustration, "Well? I thought you said you wanted to tell me."

"And you said you didn't care."

"Just tell me already!"

Stopping in his casual walk, Starscream turns to face the other, "They have a new child, Wilder. A son to be precise. He looks a little younger than you, and a whole lot nicer. Silhouette is very fond of him; she's even named him 'Wilder'. The Emirate may need some more time to warm up to him, but I can see it happening with such a nice child." Starscream lets the news sink in for a moment. The young Decepticon is clearly dumbstruck, shocked. "You've been replaced, Wilder."


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Hey guys, I've got more work posted on my DA page .com/ ! ^_^ I've got a new image depicting the scene with Soundwave and Nightbeat as well as a colored version of my pic with Nightbeat and Minerva, please ch-ch-check it out! :D

To Vivienne Grainger: hehe, you're too kind X) Glad you're enjoying the ride, and thank you for all you kind comments!

To SEZwho94: lol I've always thought if there's anyone who could get a reaction out of Soundwave, it would have to be someone as obnoxious as Starscream XD And yes, Wilder is based off the human character from Headmasters, but o'course for this story I'm using his Cybertronian form, no Earth beings included :D Same psychotic personality, though.

Thank you to my reviewers and readers, Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

_"You're not your father!"_

A faceless femme accuses me of this as I run down what seem to be endless alleyways, taking turns as though I know where I'm going –but I don't know what's coming. The air grows cold and I slow my pace until I'm stopped under a dirty street light, my air outtakes visible in the swirling breeze. I look around and find that I'm alone, or, at least I think I am.

I feel something small grab hold of my arm, giving it a slight tug. I turn to look down at a small, blue sparkling with hopeful optics.

"_Can't I come with you? I could help! I-I could carry your ray gun!" _He holds out a distinctive toy gun with a red light bulb at its firing end, a funny angry face drawn onto it. Did I draw it?

A cute kid, one that's gonna be hard to say 'no' to, I can imagine. He looks kinda stubborn. I'm about to respond when I sense the two of us now have another visitor. Turning around, I find myself facing a towering, single-optic-sensored mech that looks like a tank transformer. I turn around to tell the kid to run, but he's gone. I almost feel relieved until I hear an awful sound in front of me.

I turn around again and see the huge Cybertronian holding the kid by the processor; he's screaming, the look on his faceplates surely one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. The tank-former thug cackles, tightening his grip—

"NO!" I shoot up on my berth, surrounded by the early cycle's incoming light. It was a dream. A really… really vivid dream.

"Darling? Wilder, what's the matter?" My mother comes into my large room, sitting on the berth and placing her servo on my cheek, "Did you have another nightmare?"

I look at her for a moment, almost feeling like I shouldn't tell her anything that's going on in my processor; as if I need to hide something from her. "…No." Before the conversation can continue, I shift to get off the berth.

Following suit, my mother –this… femme… stands and offers a servo to me. Deciding not to appear odd, I take it with my own as she leads me into the dining area, "Perhaps a little breakfast will cheer you up?" She gently squeezes my servo as she asks the question.

I only nod. Some refueling does sound good. I can't quite explain it, but I have been taking every opportunity offered to refuel as much as I can; as if I have an appetite that isn't usually satisfied. It's almost like my body is set to some kind of survival mode: I can go an entire cycle with only a drop of energon, or I can take in enough to probably last me a Deca-cycle in one sitting. Surely this isn't a normal bodily function for a kid who's been raised like me, in a rich place like this. That is, if I've always been raised like this.

Entering the dining room, my optics are bombarded by light from the tall, numerous windows. The walls of the room are round, two of which are made entirely of glass that lets the lights of Kaon as well as that of our star Alpha Centuari come flooding in; reflecting intensely across the white finish of the room. My visor automatically adjusts to protect my sensitive optics; perhaps they're just sensitive from the bump I got on my processor, or perhaps I'm not used to so much light in general. I see that the two of us are not alone in the room.

"Ah, good morning, son. How did you recharge?" My father, this politician of Kaon, sits at the high table atop a high chair, sipping his early cycle energon. That's another thing that I don't feel well adapted to –all the high-set furniture.

I smile as I release the femme's hand to run up to my father, equally accepting and returning the embrace he offers. I like him. He seems to fill in a sore spot in my spark that I can't find a reason for, or at least remember.

"Are you staying home today?" It's an odd question for me to ask, but I would like to spend more time with him, maybe go out and do something fun.

He chuckles as he rubs the top of my processor adoringly, "Heh, no I'm afraid I can't, son. Duty calls." I see him make quick optic-contact with my femme caretaker and assume there's something of a quick conversation in the glance as my father returns his attention to me, "But why don't we do this: I'll take you to the Kaonian Museum when I get a day off. Sound fun?"

"Yeah!" I hop a little on my pedes, unable to withhold the excitement of spending time with my father and also learning about the past. I find that I like finding out the 'who, what, where, how, and why' of history; sometimes it's almost like a puzzle as accounts of it can differ.

"Here you are, dear, come drink up." My father's sparkmate calls.

I go to receive my energon and take it to the table, sitting by my father. I watch him as he reads a datapad, a serious look of concentration making him look a little funny. I smile into my energon.

* * *

Lost!

In a foreign City-State! One of the worst, no less!

What was Mirage thinking when he snuck onto that helicopter the Emirate and his sparkmate took Nightbeat onto? Even worse, what was he thinking when he slipped into recharge during the flight? It had been quite a shock when he had awoken to find himself almost being crushed by the enormous aerial Cybertronian as it was transforming into its bipedal mode. Even more shocking was finding that he was on a landing pad in a bad part of Kaon, not in the small rich area where the Emirate –and Nightbeat –surely was.

He's been wandering around for the entire recharge cycle, keeping his cloaking device on the entire way. When he had first come to, he was at a landing pad resting within an impressive, fort-like structure that surrounded what must have been Kaon's famous Smelting Pool; not a popular destination for tourists. In his confusion and terror, the small racer had fled the structure in a panic; not paying much mind to where he was going.

Some time later to the present and Mirage now finds himself sitting in an alleyway, exhaustion overtaking him. If he had been in a bad part of the city to begin with, he was certainly in an even worse part now. Mechs covered in packs of grime who look like they could lift buildings –and probably do –make up most of the unpleasant smelling population that walk about, generally looking angry. So far, Mirage has only seen a total of two femmes –both of which were either surrounded by a pack of protective mechs or was armed to the hilt.

Also during his stay in Kaon thus far, the little gentlemech has witnessed two stabbings, five shootings, and has heard words he didn't even know existed used in contexts he surely isn't supposed to know. Is this the kind of place Nightbeat came from? No, surely nothing this extreme... but who knows. It turns out that the little Lieger doesn't know too much about the world. Mirage would very much like to see Nightbeat right now and ask him himself, but that prospect isn't looking too hopeful.

Leaning his back against the slimy wall of the alley –slimy? Quickly jerking away and leaning against the other non-slimy wall of the alleyway, Mirage shuts down his optics for a quick rest; his audio sensors, however, are unwillingly set to their highest levels. It must be getting near the early cycle as the crowds seem less rowdy and a lot more sober.

Accidentally letting himself get too comfortable –somehow –Mirage begins falling into recharge, his cloaking device shutting off to conserve what little energy he has left. Not realizing the danger he's in, the blue and white sparkling enjoys his momentary, blissful state of obliviousness until he feels a looming presence.

"And what's a nice lookin' kid like _you_ doin' here?"

* * *

"So, um, am I gonna go to school or anything?" I'm not sure what season it is, but from the chilled air it feels like we're approaching the Luna Equinox, a time when kids generally begin a new grade of school.

My femme-caretaker seems caught off-guard from the question, and almost looks –is it worry? Uncertainty? _Fear_? What an odd reaction.

"Oh, school? No, no y- you're so smart, Wilder. You –you won't need school for a while." She forces a smile and quickly turns to get back to cleaning some kind of energon-mixing contraption.

_"Shouldn't you be in school?" _A refined, young voice speaks. A Praxian accent.

I almost trip as I quickly turn, expecting to see someone there. No one. It must be from my processor injury; I keep hearing and seeing things that… aren't there. I look back at my femme-caretaker, Silhouette, and it appears she didn't notice my little spasm. She must sense that I'm still standing where I am, though, as she giggles and makes a suggestion.

"Why don't you go play outside, Wilder? It's a lovely cycle. Just don't go too far, alright?"

Deciding that some fresh air would probably do my fritzing processor some good, I turn to make for the back door, "'Kay."

I come out onto a wide courtyard. Taking in a deep intake, I enjoy the view for a moment before walking over to the wall, taking a look over to see how high up our living quarters are. Again, there seems to be a trend in high-placed objects, and our home is definitely no exception. Looking back to take a glance about the courtyard, it doesn't provide much opportunity to satiate my need to climb something or balance on something; I suppose I could balance across the top of this wall, but one slip and I just may receive a second blow to the processor, a much worse one at that.

Looking back down, I see the streets below are lightly populated, informing me of just how small Kaon's higher caste is; or perhaps they're all at work, or maybe just don't like the cold weather. Why do I think so much?

I also catch sight of an energon channel, it looks pretty shallow from here. How funny would it be if I were to just start romping around in it, splashing everywhere for all those snobby bots to see? Wait, aren't _I_ one of those snobby bots? My psyche seems to be separating itself from this branch of society, an odd concept as I am apparently a part of it. Maybe I'm just a rebel.

On that note, I go to the other end of the courtyard and find an elevator door –an _elevator_? To get to your house? There aren't even any stairs, what if there was a fire? Maybe these high-end houses would just spout a pair of wings and fly away to safety in the case of an emergency. It wouldn't surprise me, honest.

Pressing the 'down' button, I flinch at the loud 'PING!' that breaks the serene silence of the courtyard. I look over my shoulder to make sure Silhouette isn't coming and then jump into the elevator as the doors open. I press the 'down' icon and the doors shut. As the elevator goes down –rather smoothly, too –I glance around to see if there are any cameras. None that I can see, I guess a private elevator wouldn't likely have one. Some kind of jazzy music is lightly playing from a speaker in the ceiling, making me wiggle even more with anticipation for running around and playing.

Reaching my destination, I squeeze through the doors impatiently and my pedes hit the street running. My living quarters seem to be located in a Pavilion sector, with tall living buildings and shopping centers all around. I see femmes that have clearly had their plating restructured to be more… round? Hey, I'm just a kid, I wouldn't know how to describe what these gals are goin' for, but they all seem to be landing in the same pool of outcomes; it's like seeing clones with different paint jobs –not that they're unpleasant on the optics.

Elegant mechs walk about with a bombastic formalness that almost makes them look like they're about to start doing some kind of ballroom dance; their chassis have long, wing-like plates hanging from their shoulders that look like capes. Although my rich color scheme helps me fit in with this crowd, my simple chassis design makes me look like a river pebble next to a fine cut precious stone. I find that I don't really mind, though.

All of this open space is making me nervous, so I head for an alleyway between two living quarters and go in the direction I saw the energon channel from the courtyard. Coming out of the alleyway to a wide walkway running along the channel, I feel my spark beat with excitement when I see the clear, slow current liquid; it looks just deep enough to reach my chin. I take a look around, and see only a mech and femme taking an early cycle stroll towards me.

They don't pay me much mind until the femme whispers to the mech while eyeing me curiously. Seeing that I have an audience, I take a few wide steps backwards to get a running start. The mech clears his throat as though he's about to question what I'm doing when I take off like a lightning bolt towards the channel. I feel a wave of pure glee as I hear the femme scream like I'm about to jump off a building as I do a cannon ball into the channel.

I hear a satisfying 'plunk' as my chassis is enveloped in the liquid, and let myself completely sink to the bottom. When my aft-plate touches the bottom, I revel in the sensation of weightlessness, silence; the coolness of the liquid as I feel the physical barrier between myself and the current mesh as if I am a part of it.

_What if his body is still in here?_

A sudden fear grips my spark; what was that? Opening my optics, I look down and see that the current is pushing something against my leg as it rests against the floor of the channel. I pick it up and study it. No way…

Deciding that it's time to let the femme and mech above know that I haven't committed suicide, I subspace my new treasure and kick off from the bottom, my processor breaking the surface. The femme is hysterical as she appears to be tugging on her mech's arm in an effort to get him to come in after me, but he's quite clearly objective to the idea. What a wimp. What if I _was_ suicidal? People aren't like that where I come from… wait, what?

"See, there? The boy's just being a trouble-maker! He's fine!" The mech makes wild gestures towards me as he whines to the femme.

"And what if he wasn't? You would let a child just drown?" The femme isn't even paying attention to me as I suck some of the liquid into my mouth and shoot it out like a fountain.

"W-well I didn't see _you_ going in, either! Why can't _you_ swim?" The mech is seriously asking this? What a weak comeback.

Deciding that all this drama was getting a little too heavy for a simple prank, I call out to them, "Hey, the energon's great! Won't you join me?" I speak with a mock-posh accent.

At this, the couple is brought to a dumbstruck silence, their chassis frozen in the midst of their passionate bickering while their optics and mouths are agape as they look at me. I smile brightly at the two.

"W-why you-!" The femme looks like she is about to, indeed, join me –but not for a social swim; she looks like she's about to come kick my aft. Luckily for me, her mech grabs her arms and tries talking sense into her by describing how her fresh coat of paint would be ruined if she were to come after me. I take this as my cue to start swimming down the channel with the current in a daring escape from the woman's wrath.

* * *

A/N: Hey, since we're ending on a happy note here, I just gotta let ya'll know… I just won a g1 Nightbeat (misb!) on ebay… :D I am very happy. Broke for cash now, but happy. X)


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I've got the pic with Soundwave colored up on my DA page, please have a look-see! ^_^ Thank you to all my awesome readers! ^_^ Please Enjoy and Review!

To SEZwho94: Th-that would be awful if he found that in the channel! XD I didn't even consider that! I gotta tell ya, I got a good laugh outta reading that one :D and be careful if you ever do decide to get yourself a transformer, it can become an addiction! XD

To Vivienne Grainger: Thank you ^_^ and I felt that things were getting way to serious/depressing for too long, so I had to have a mischievous Nightbeat to lighten things up X) ya might as well go stir up trouble if you don't know who you are anyways :D

Thank you to my reviewers! ^_^

* * *

Although it is located a ways away from Cybertron's equator, Kaon's climate is comparable to that of the Pit itself. Constant torrents of toxic smoke veil the skies, the cheap city lights beneath painting them orange and red. This thick atmosphere in turn creates a massive greenhouse effect unlike any other on the face of Cybertron leading to temperatures that could melt the paint off anybot who didn't have the proper finish coat.

Mirage is one of these bots.

At the moment, however, he's too busy to notice the embarrassing streaking drops of paint rolling down his chassis as he enjoys a well-needed refueling in a small pub that for the most part is empty due to the time of the solar cycle it is. An eerie orange glow softly penetrates the white-coated windows, spilling its faded hues onto the rusty, copper tables and sitting stools.

Being the young gentlebot that he is, Mirage sits with a straight posture and is sure to stick out a pinkie as he (not so politely) chugs the energon offered to him.

"You sure were hungry, huh? 'Must not be used to missing a meal." A husky voice ponders in a friendly tone.

Feeling embarrassed for his slipping dining etiquette, Mirage lowers his cup from his mouth and dips his optics as he swallows a mouthful quite audibly. He has yet to speak a word to this kind stranger; his vocalizer won't seem to work.

He's never seen such a beautiful femme.

She sits at the opposite side of the table from him, appearing rather comfortable in this run-down energon-hole. Mirage raises the cup back to his lip components when he feels his cheeks redden as she leans her cheek against her palm –staring at him with a small smile.

This femme is definitely a surprise to come by in a place like Kaon; with her golden plated helmet and softly refined facial plates, she looks like she could fit right into the High Tower Pavilions with ease. As pretty as she is, though, she has an aura of power about her; of authority and strength. Mirage considers to himself what her occupation could possibly be; she could be a Gladiator perhaps, or a queen of a gang.

The femme's small smile turns into a knowing smirk as she catches Mirage stealing glances at her, leading him to nearly choke on his energon.

"You're definitely not from around here, so where you from, hon?" The femme sits up straight and stretches a little.

The blue and white sparkling tries not to watch her chassis as she twists to pop her back springs into place. Deciding that this femme may be his only chance for help, he speaks up, "What makes you so sure?" He's curious to know why –even when he is in his current state, covered in dirt and grime –it is so obvious that he is not a local.

"Well, for starters, your paint is dripping off your chassis like it wasn't meant to resist the kinda heat Kaon sustains." She gestures to the little one's chassis and continues, "Plus, the fact that you're a sparkling walking the streets alone. Now, unless you're packing some kind of super weapon, that ain't normal. Kids around here know better than to go wandering about without protection –as in adults."

Mirage feels his vocal chords tighten at being found out. What was she going to do? What if she's planning on selling him? There has been plenty of gossip back at the Towers about the slave-trade that the Council is turning a blind optic to for whatever reason. The frightening thought quickly passes, however, when the femme's words process entirely, "Oh no!" Looking down at his chassis, Mirage feels a sense of terror grip him. Taking a high-society bot's paint is like taking his plating –he'll practically be naked!

Chuckling softly at the child's overly dramatic reaction, she reassures him, "Don't worry about it, paint can be replaced." She then leans forward, lowering her processor to be optic-level with Mirage, "But listen, kid, I need to know who you are and where you came from. Kaon isn't a place for a sparkling like you."

Should he tell her who he is? Is she truly concerned for his well being? Wait –what if she's a sparkling-napper? What if she decides to hold him for ransom once she finds out he's a Towers bot from Iacon? Mirage comes to a grim realization that in Kaon, he can't trust anyone.

He'll have to lie.

"I… I'm from Iacon, yeah, but… I'm from Sector D-12 –Sector Capri. My name is… Mirage." He supposes that his name should be safe enough to give.

The femme stares him in the optics for a moment, her features neutral and unreadable. She may know he's lying. She then bobs her head and leans back into her chair, "Alright, Mirage. Did you say… Sector Capri?" A sideways grin overtakes her expression for a brief moment before she holds a balled servo to her lips in a contemplative manner, "You, uh, wouldn't happen to know any Academy students around there, would ya?"

"I, uh, no. Sorry." Mirage fiddles with his empty energon container nervously.

"Right, right, okay. Hm." Her head leans to one side as her brow furrows a little as she studies the small bot before her, "Okay, Mirage, how did you end up here in Kaon?"

How indeed. This is the part where Mirage is going to need to think, and fast. Coming up with a plan, Mirage answers, "I came here with… my family. But I got separated from them, last solar cycle. I need to return to them, to find my brother."

_'To find my brother'_? That last bit sure didn't sound right. Why would he need to return to his family in order to find his brother? Isn't he the one who is going to be found? And how strange is it that she hasn't received any reports of a missing sparkling around here, didn't his creators care enough? Deciding to keep her thoughts to herself, the femme puts it aside for now, "Alright, Mirage. We'll get you to your family." She offers her servo to the little one, "I'm Roulette, and I'm an Enforcer here in Kaon."

* * *

"Have you gone completely _**insane**_? Do you realize what an embarrassment you've brought onto this foundation? Never in all my Meta-cycles have I -Prowl , what on Cybertron where you _thinking_?" Sentinel Major's booming voice reverberates in the spacious office, effectively piercing through Prowl's processor.

"Sir, you _must_ listen –I _know_ that child was Nightbeat! I have several witnesses, including a highly regarded Medical Officer –including his own mother! He may have been unresponsive to us due to something his captors did to his—"

"I saw the vid feed myself, Prowl. And all I saw was one of **my **students breaking into and entering a high-security community –the High Towers, for Primus's sake! –and harassing an esteemed foreign politician! The kid looks nothing like the one you're looking for –and I still believe the real one's just run away! That's what kids do! But that's not important—"

"**Clearly**." Prowl shuts his optics tightly the moment he opens his vocalizer as he feels his tanks twist at his idiotic remark. He's not helping himself, here; or Nightbeat.

Sentinel Major stares long and hard at his insubordinate student. What's gotten into this one? A straight and narrow, by the books, ideal student that teachers only _dream_ of having –and he pulls a stunt like this? "You're obsessed, Prowl. _Your_ processor is the one that needs checking up." The Department chief looks down at a datapad on his desk for a moment, feeling disappointment and regret for what he must do, "That's why you're on paroled suspension until further notice. You're lucky I don't throw you in the brig."

"I-?" Prowl's face plates freeze in shock at this. Well, what had he expected? There is no reasoning with Sentinel Major, he's too stubborn and refuses to be wrong. Perhaps this is… for the better. However, the young Praxian must give it at least one more try, for Nightbeat's sake, "Sir, please, if you would just review my findings, I—"

"Enough, Prowl. You're dismissed to your quarters in the dorms. You'll receive the details on your parole conditions; I expect you to follow them." Sentinel Major gives his student a stern look.

Prowl's mouth remains open for a moment, though no sound comes out, until he finally lets it fall shut. Releasing a silent sigh, he straightens up and salutes his superior before turning to leave.

He could just run. Why should he go wait in his room? He's not a sparkling, why should he be treated like this? He could go find Minerva and they could find a way to reach Kaon, to reach Nightbeat. That slagger… that fragging slagger! Why won't he even listen to all the evidence that Prowl's found? A sparkling's life is in danger! Are these bots here mad? He's not the insane one, no. It's the powers that be. They bring about their peace and prosperity by means of ignorance and insanity!

Before he knows it, Prowl finds himself at the door to his room. He stares down at the key pad, its flashing red lights reflecting the rage in his spark. He sighs, feeling utterly defeated as he raises his digit to the pad and enters his code. Perhaps he ought to wait for the recharge cycle to fall, for the security of the dark. There may yet be something useful that he could do here at the Academy until then.

* * *

"Wilder, what do you have there?" my femme caretaker asks in a somewhat distasteful tone.

"It's a ray gun. Neat, huh? Look, it's got a light, too, and I think it's supposed to make noises, but the power core's dead." I hold up the treasure I had fished out of the channel earlier and take aim at a non-existent enemy at the other end of the kitchen as I sit at the table with a datapad. I can't shake the weird feeling that I've seen this toy before; didn't I have a dream that had one in it?

"It's filthy, is what it is." She comes over and before I know it's gone and she has it in her servos. Nice trick; what is she, a pick-pocket? She studies it for a moment, a funny look scrunching her features until she looks at me. I hold my servos together and muster up the best sparkling face I can, earning a giggle from the femme. "Alright, at least let me wash it up for you. It could have all kinds of nasty things on it if you just found it lying about."

"Thank you!" I hop off my seat and grab the datapad I had been reading – 'Volume One: The History of Cybertronian Crime'. I find its contents to be absolutely fascinating, but I can't reason why it feels like I've read it before. My femme caretaker had thought it to be an odd request from me, telling me that I had never been interested in such a topic before, but nonetheless provided me with a copy.

I dart down the long hallways of our living quarters, pretending that I'm chasing down an elusive saboteur. Reaching my room, I launch myself into the air and land on my berth while making a crashing sound with my vocalizer. Sitting up and setting my datapad aside, I take a long look about 'my' room; really looking at it for the first time.

I feel… uneasy about looking around at its contents, like it's none of my business. The room really doesn't provide much for the optics, anyways. There are only a few book shelves and some chests lining the walls. Overall, the room is quite bland. No posters on the walls, no sentimental items set about. Nothing.

It seems very… cold. Not the way someone's room is supposed to be. It's like the room is literally used for nothing more than storage and recharge.

I slide off the edge of the berth onto my pedes and slowly walk over to one of the chests. Maybe I can try to remember something by looking at the kinds of things I own. I kneel by the metal container and lift the top. Peeking in, I'm disappointed to see only necessities and school supplies. Huh. I thought I was too smart for school, so why all the supplies?

I dig around through the chest's contents, pulling it out until the chest is seemingly empty. Sitting back on my pedes, I think for a moment. Deciding to be thorough, as I may have put anything anywhere thinking I would remember, I push the chest to the side. Nothing but floor.

But wait, no, not nothing but floor –something is odd. I can just barely make out the shape of a rectangle on the surface of the floor. I run a digit along the outline then look around to see if I have anything around that may be of use. I pick up a thin-tipped writing stylus out of the pile of school supplies and dig it into the edge of the rectangle until the edge begins lifting up out of the floor. Setting the stylus down, I pull the rest of the cut-out off the apparent hole in the floor.

What could I possibly be trying so hard to hide? I push aside some blank papers that were precariously put in the hole to perhaps conceal whatever is beneath. I reach my servo down into the dark hole, and feel my digits bump into something. It's small, but heavy. I pull it up and—A GUN! I nearly drop it but fumble to catch it, feeling my pulse quicken.

What on Cybertron is _this_? What am I, a drug runner? A mobster? No, that can't be. I know myself well enough to at least know I would never go to that side. I quickly look over to my open bedroom door to make sure Silhouette isn't coming down the hall. I set the gun down and quickly get up to shut the door. Sitting back down, I check the gun to make sure it's on safety before setting it back into the hole. It would probably be best to just leave it there.

Before I raise my servo back out, I feel it brush against something else. Lifting it slowly as if it might be a bomb, I'm relieved to find it to be a simple tin box. Perhaps it's filled with cards depicting the top racers on Cybertron? I open the box, and indeed I find a metal card, but no racer stats. I lift the card up and study the distinctive, purple emblem carved into it.

There's a location inscribed on the back; an underground stadium of some kind, right here in Kaon. There's some kind of event that's held twice every Deca-cycle, and tonight appears to be one of those nights.

* * *

A/N: Has anyone else missed Brawl and Barricade? :D Nightbeat is up for a big night on the town, and let's hope he's not afraid of heights.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Have you guys missed Brawl and Barricade as much as I have? Seriously, I couldn't keep these guys away for too much longer XD You know I love hearing from you guys, so Please Enjoy and Review!

Thank you to my reviewers!

* * *

"So the Capri Detective had a child." Megatron ponders upon his throne in his subsurface base located in Iacon. "And this very child is now in the custody of Emirate Xeon." He raises his optics to meet his lieutenant's piercing visor and smirks, "Things certainly have a way of coming together, don't they. The child just may have what we need that his father could not provide us with; the key to winning this war before it even has a chance to begin. Has the Emirate responded to the… recommendation… that he return to Iacon at once to fulfill our agreement?"

"Negative. The Emirate has returned to his normal cycle routines in Kaon." Soundwave responds in his usual unreadable tone.

"Well, then I suppose it's time I make myself more clear, isn't it. Open a vid link with Kolkular, Brawl and Barricade should have made it to Kaon by now. And one more thing, Soundwave—" Megatron waits for his Master Spy to stop what he is doing at the communications control panel and turn to face his leader, "About the child's origins… Starscream is not to know of this."

"What isn't Starscream to know of, Lord Megatron?" Speaking of the spawn of Unicron, the Air Commander himself slithers into the throne room; neither of the two already present mechs had even heard the doors open. "What could you possibly not trust to share with little old me?"

"I thought I gave you your orders to return to Kaon, Starscream." Megatron's visage turns to a cold sneer as his red optics flare in frustration that has become natural around the Seeker. He leans his chiseled cheek against a balled servo, appearing nonchalant despite the threat in his tone.

Starscream, of course, responds as if the dark lord had greeted him with a smile, "Oh, your processor does not fail you, my liege. I indeed have received my orders via a rather impersonal com message over the screen terminals, but I just thought I would come see you in person to ask just why the Pit you're sending me back to Kaon when our work _here_ is at such a 'critical point' as you call it. You wouldn't be hiding something, or perhaps trying to brush me aside, now would you?" Starscream upholds a mock-friendly tone as he casually strolls down the hallway towards where Megatron is seated.

The Gladiator Champion stares with a look of seemingly pure exhaustion at his Second in Command before responding, "I thought I've made it clear that you are not to question me, Starscream. I want you to return to Kaon to oversee tonight's tournament. I don't trust Swindle to handle the winnings."

"Oh, but you trust me, Megatron? Why, I'm blushing." A serpentine grin crosses the flyer's faceplates with pure glee.

"Not anymore than I would trust Skywarp to correctly count the winnings, but there is more I have in store for you while you are in Kaon."

"And would it happen to involve our dearest Emirate, who you so _foolishly_ believed would benefit us?" The Seeker's faceplates take on an angry tone until he notices how quiet his lord becomes, "Or, perhaps… his new child? What could possibly be so interesting about the little one?" Starscream's smile returns to him as his optics squint in suspicion.

"You will receive further orders as I see fit to give them to you, Starscream. You will be taking the rest of your trine with you to Kaon –I assume you've gotten a hold on Thundercracker?"

"Thundercracker? Yes. Yes, he's… back." The flyer crosses his arms and avoids optic contact with either of the mechs in the room.

"Why don't you call him now? I wish to have a brief word with him. You may as well call in Skywarp, as well." Megatron lets a smirk curl one side of his lip components.

The Air Commander straightens, clearly catching the challenge. Raising his servo to his com link, he replies, "As you wish, Lord Megatron. _Skywarp, Thundercracker, report to the throne room at once._" Cutting the link, Starscream returns to his attitude-filled posture and looks at Megatron with a dead-pan expression. Megatron simply smirks pleasantly.

Muffled voices are heard outside the double doors to the throne room, sounding as though they may be arguing. Starscream's right optic twitches at his foolish subordinates' bickering that they clearly believe cannot be heard within the throne room. Finally, the doors open to reveal a pair of young Seekers, one consistently purple in color and the other blue. Both new mechs stand at the door somewhat awkwardly, awaiting further instruction.

"Come forward, you fools." Starscream growls.

Skywarp quickly scurries to his trine leader's side like a sheepish sparkling, while Thundercracker takes his time to walk down the hall to stand by his winged comrades. Starscream isn't sure which one to strangle first. Megatron observes the trio, his optics stopping on the blue scientist.

"You went missing for some time, Thundercracker. Where did you go?" Megatron speaks nonchalantly, but the young flyer being addressed is no less fooled.

"I had… some old business to attend to, my lord. I apologize for my actions, it will not happen again." Thundercracker can feel the static tension in the air, prickling the back of his neckplates as his intakes grow shallow.

"Hn. Would this 'old business' perchance involve your old colleague from the Science Department, Jetfire?" Seeing the blue Seeker stiffen at the accusation, Megatron knows he's struck the truth, "I've already told you, Thundercracker, you are to break your ties to what you once were. If you are to truly become a Decepticon, then you must release the past in order to become so much more. If you continue to meet with your previous colleagues, then I will be forced to assume you are a sympathizer for the powers that be; the very ones that mean to crush us with their oppressive castes and twisted sense of justice. I simply will not tolerate the existence of such in my ranks; do I make myself clear, Thundercracker?"

Ever since he had followed his trine members into the ranks of the Decepticons, Thundercracker has found himself between a rock and a hard place. He agrees with Megatron's ideals, including his belief that the current caste system is holding Cybertron in a state of stasis that will inevitably lead to its decay –just as the space bridges have decayed with time and disuse. He agrees that the castes have also been holding Cybertronians back from fulfilling their full potential and from even having ambitions.

Thundercracker's problem, however, is that he is –or at least, was –happy with the caste he was born into. He was born to fulfill the role of a scientist, and it was a role he found he quite liked. He could understand, however, that other bots –such as Skywarp –were not well suited for the occupations to which they were born to. Skywarp absolutely abhorred science, and was miserable because of it. It was for the possibility of his brother's freedom that Thundercracker joined the Decepticon cause.

However, the scientist in him still yearns to continue his work, and that means returning to his former colleagues in order to do so. He isn't sure how much longer he can trust going to Jetfire, the mech had been a close friend to all three of the turned Seekers; but it seems like every time Thundercracker visits him, the larger flyer grows more desperate in trying to convince him to leave the Decepticons. If Megatron knew that he even listened to such heresy…

"Yes, my lord. I understand." The blue Seeker dips his processor in respect to his leader, the one that he vowed never to betray.

* * *

"It's great to be home. Ain't it great to be home? It's great." Brawl takes a deep intake of the polluted air of the Kaonian street, briefly hacking afterwards before regaining what little composure he's able to maintain on a daily basis. "Smell sure as Pit ain't changed. Just the way we left things. Ain't it great?"

"Would you shut up already? I'm ready to go back to Iacon. This place is ready for the scrap heap." Barricade sighs and looks away from his comrade as they stroll down the mech-crowded streets, gathering grime and black soot on their chassis.

"Humph. Iacon's spoiled you. You better not go soft on me, Barricade. We've got the tournament tonight, and I don't want a whimpering femme as a—" Brawl is quickly cut off.

"Shut yer trap. Let's go see if that one rust bucket pub is still where it last was." Yup, things are back to the way they've always been; the way Barricade likes it. No more psychotic, obsessive little Brawl antics, no crazy aft kids. Everything's right. Barricade also likes the looks of the femme he and Brawl are about to pass by on the road, "Well well, if it isn't Enforcer Roulette." He grins.

The femme, who looks like she is headed somewhere, sneers at the destructive duo, "Ah, frag. 'The Pit are you two doing back in Kaon? I thought maybe I'd gotten lucky and you two had died or something."

Brawl puts on a mock-hurt performance, holding a servo over his spark, "Aw, Roulette, what about all those long recharge cycles we spent together under the stars? I remember the way you held me—" Once more, Brawl is cut off.

"Yeah, in a processor-lock after I'd chased you for half a cycle for trading arms for illegal high-grade." The femme snarls at the empty-processored mech who stands nearly twice her height. "So does this sudden return to Kaon have to do with that Rheanimum you boys stole from the asteroid laboratory?" Roulette is bold to ask so upfront.

Brawl quickly goes on the defensive, sounding like a sparkling, "_Us_? We didn't steal it! It was Star—"

"Shut up, Brawl!" Barricade socks the lumbering tank-former in his midsection. Turning to the femme, his optics blaze in threat, "How would you know anything about that, femme?" There must be a leak somewhere in the Decepticon ranks for an Enforcer to know of the Rheanimum deposits that the Seeker Trine had found in the asteroid belt…

Not even phased by the speedy Gladiator's daunting glare, Roulette returns the question with another, "So then you confirm that your little boy's club is in possession of it?" She can't help but let a smirk cross her faceplates; cornering these two is way too easy. She'll have to be careful with how much she pushes Barricade, however. Brawl is predictable and easy to overcome, but Barricade… he's a nasty one with a processor as fast as his wheels, even if his quiet demeanor doesn't show it.

That's when Barricade does something the femme law enforcer doesn't expect; he begins chuckling in a barely audible tone. Uncrossing his arms, Barricade walks up to the femme until he's standing so close they could be mistaken for lovers by others passing by. The femme holds her ground, unflinching even as Barricade leans in closer still to whisper into her audio receptor, "Be careful, sweetspark. You're not as big as you think, and you've no idea where we're at. Keep that pretty face outta this and maybe you'll keep it."

Roulette jerks her processor away from the mech when he dips his face close to her neck, stealing an intake of her scent. The two share a close-quarters stare down until a sweet voice interrupts the tension in the air.

"Miss Roulette?"

The femme Enforcer turns to see Mirage coming out of the pub she had asked him to wait in, a look of worry evident upon his features. She feels her spark skip a beat.

"Awww, I just love sparklings. Is he yours?" Brawl takes a step towards the little one, sarcasm drenching his tone. The blue and white child retreats back two steps to the doorway of the pub, partially hiding behind the frame. Brawl chuckles.

Roulette is about to take her leave to retrieve Mirage when Barricade grabs her wrist with a forceful servo, pulling her close enough once more to give a parting warning, "Remember, femme." He smiles broadly as she wrenches her wrist free, taking wide strides to reach Mirage, scoop him up, and head off in another direction. Brawl and Barricade both watch her departing chassis with appreciation.

* * *

His name is Nightbeat. His name _was_ Nightbeat. The Emirate wishes he had never heard the name; especially from the child's true creator. The name is… a lot more suiting for the child, more so than 'Wilder'. This Nightbeat, what a clever one he is; Emirate Xeon can see it in the way he tilts his processor whenever told something of interest. What a precious one he is.

The Emirate of Kaon muses to himself as he sits on the couch in the living quarters of his home, the only light coming from a grand fireplace that casts a golden tone across the dark room. The light source sends patterns of softly glowing streams dancing across his chassis, as well as that of the sparkling whose head rests against his chest compartment in recharge.

The child is quite fond of him. Ironic, in that the Emirate had been so against the idea of keeping him. Now… Xeon wouldn't trade the world for him. He does worry, however, that this ache in his spark that is so closely placed beside the love he has for the child will never fade; is it guilt?

Emirate Xeon sets the datapad he had been holding onto the table beside the couch. He turns his processor to look down at the small face resting against him, his distinctive visor darkened by offlined optics. Why does he always keep his visor down? Perhaps it is a custom from where he came from; perhaps it is simply a way of keeping his thoughts to himself. But if his memory was erased, should he still have such a habit? Perhaps, as Soundwave had left his personality component untouched.

Deciding that it is quite late in the recharge cycle and that his son would have a better recharge in his own berth, Emirate Xeon slowly shifts until he is able to scoop the little one into his arms without disturbing his rest. He carries his child down the hallway, glancing at his resting features every now and then.

Reaching Wilder's bedroom, the Emirate lays the small frame across the berth. He straightens up and beams with pride as he looks down at the small Cybertronian, a feeling that seems… foreign. This Nightbeat, he's a well-rounded child; a smart one, with his morals in the right place and a natural sense of justice. The Emirate glances to the items on the chest beside the child's berth and sees a toy ray gun, a datapad recording some kind of crime history, and a magnifying glass; so that's where that last item had disappeared to.

A little investigator. A detective, perhaps. The Emirate feels some kind of relief wash over his spark; corruption has run through his family for generations, and the Emirate does not deny that he himself has carried on the tradition. But this child, perhaps he is the key to bringing justice and redemption to his legacy. Nightbeat.

The Emirate leans over and gently places a kiss on his son's forehead.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Hey guys here's another! Don't forget to read the chapter I posted yesterday; I've noticed that it looks like some of you forgot to read Ch.16 since I posted 17 the same day D: As always, Please Enjoy and Review!

To SEZwho94: lol, sorry I'm putting you through so much X) but, a lotta bad guys do have good sides, and I just had to approach the Emirate's :) And yes! Brawl an Barricade are back in town! XD

Thank you to all my reviewers!

* * *

My chronometer sets off a 'ping' sound in my processor, instantly bringing me online. I sit up and find that I've somehow migrated to my berth; my dad probably carried me to it. I slide off the edge of the berth, careful to set my pedes against the floor as quietly as I can. I grab my ray gun and magnifier off the chest beside my berth and subspace them. I take a quick glance around before reaching under the chest to retrieve the strange card I had found earlier with the purple emblem.

The living quarters are silent; no bot stirring but me. I sneak down the hallway and make my way to the front door before pausing. There may be some kind of security detection system that will set off an alarm built into the doors, perhaps even the windows. Taking a step away from the door, I glance about to gather my options. Maybe I could climb up the fireplace; it's just about my size. Then again, how quiet could I manage to be?

I'm brought to full awareness of my surroundings when I feel a chilled caress tickle my pedes. I glance over at a far wall and see an air vent leveled with the floor. I approach it and am pleasantly surprised to find that a light tug is enough to loosen the cover; I assume I must have used this pathway before, it seems well worn.

I lie on my front side and slide my way into the vent. I make my way through the narrow passageway until I come to an adjoining tunnel that drops straight down. Once more I find a clue that I've used this path in the past, as there is a rope tied to a pole that was placed between the tunnel I sit in and the parallel one across from it. I situate myself to hang off the edge off the vent I came from and slowly shift my weight onto the pole.

I grab the rope and hope for the best as I scale down the vertical vent. What little light I had in the tunnel leading out of the living quarters fades and eventually I'm in complete darkness. I silently pray to Primus that the rope won't end short and send me plummeting to my offlining.

I slow the pace of my decent until I finally feel something solid touch beneath my pede. Releasing the rope, I online one of the headlights located on my forearm. Shining it about, I find myself at a crossroads of larger vents leading in all directions. I find it odd, however, when I feel a humid, warmer breeze coming from behind me. Turning, I see a maintenance door that must lead to the outside of the structure.

The lock to the door looks as though it was shot off; surely I didn't do _that_. There are much more respectable, delicate ways to deal with locks; particularly ones that are a part of your creators' living complex. Pushing the door open, I exit the building and step out onto the empty streets of Kaon's higher society.

I find it odd that the streets are deserted so early in the recharge cycle; don't rich bots like to go out and party? Things must be different around here, I suppose.

I take a final look at the metal card with the purple emblem, memorizing the location detailed on the back. I can't seem to remember my way around these parts, so chances are I'll need to ask around. Taking a look down at my chassis, I realize that I would probably be attacked if I were to go waltzing about in this state of high polish and rich colors. This calls for a jump in the channel and some rolling around in the dirt.

Once my chassis coating is thoroughly trashed, I find myself pleased with how rustic and roughed up I look; if anything, I feel a lot more comfortable in my own dermal plating. Before I let myself get distracted with analyzing my strange feelings, I decide the best way to begin locating my destination is to follow the channel downstream; it would just make sense if the upper society would receive the freshest energon before it makes its way down to the rest of the city.

I feel a thrill coarse through my circuitry as I run along the channel, seeing shadows move in dark alleyways and hearing the sounds of the living city grow louder as I near it. I'm in my element.

The channel eventually comes to an end and I assume it leads to an underground waterway. Looking forward, my visor has to quickly readjust to the bright, colored lights of the city life. I was not expecting such a scene at this time of the recharge cycle; it seems that there are more crowds during this time than during the solar cycle.

I keep a low profile as I slide into the numerous currents of the crowds, seeing a very different variety of mechs and femmes than what I had seen earlier in the higher society. Huge mechs with gnarly sets of spiked and serrated armor strut about with predatory postures and an essence of pure wickedness about them. Many of the mechs are joined by femmes with killer chassis and optics so sharp a glance from them could bring on one's demise.

I move with the shifting directions of the crowd and search for any kind of indication as to where I am. My attention is caught when I see a shady mech eyeing the crowd over his shoulder before showing a card that looks a lot like mine to another mech leaning against a wall. A group of thugs block my view of the pair just as the second mech is about to point in a direction.

When my view is cleared, I find the mech that had presented the card gone. Without anybot to tail to my destination, I decide that I'll have to approach the mech leaning against the wall. Just as I make to cut through the crowd to reach him, I'm shoved roughly by a femme who apparently doesn't like my crossing in front of her.

"Back off! I'll eat 'cha spark out, brat!" Her voice is so deep and smooth that I fail to fully grasp the threat, but nonetheless get clear of her. I almost make the mistake of turning to watch her retreating chassis, but decide against it as I feel her optics burning a hole in the side of my processor as she looks back at me before continuing on her way.

I reach the mech against the wall, and I flash my card at him just as he's about to hock a wad of thick oil in my face. He quickly stops himself from doing so when he sees the card and I almost burst into laughter as his face scrunches and turns a light shade of green when he accidentally swallows the loogie. However, I manage to keep a neutral visage as he covers his mouth with one servo and points down an alleyway with the other.

Odd, he didn't even flinch when a sparkling showed up in a scene like this. Surely it isn't a common practice for kids to be meshing with this kind of crowd. Either way, I take off down the directed alley until it comes to an end; a stairway leading down into a black abyss the only option. Taking my chances, I go down the stairs until I meet two tall mechs guarding a doorway.

With no lights to decipher their features, I can only see a single, yellow optic on one mech and a set of fiery optics on the shorter one. The smaller one speaks.

"You supposed to be out this late, kid? Dangerous place, 'round here."

Unsure of whether or not he's being serious or if he's speaking in some kind of code, I remain silent and simply present the card to him. He keeps his optics locked onto my yellow visor for a moment before lowering them to the card. I feel my intakes grow shallow until coming to a complete halt.

"Alright, kid. Don't make any trouble and you might come out in one piece, eh?" The shorter mech looks at the taller one and tilts his processor back in indication for him to open the door.

I don't waste any time as I pass between the two mechs to enter what is one of the most impressive subsurface structures I've ever seen; or at least, for as long as I can remember. The doors shut behind me and I join yet another crowd of mechs and femmes who appear to be waiting in line for something, perhaps to be seated.

As the doors shut behind them, the two guards stand in vigilant silence for a moment before the taller one speaks.

"… Hey, Barricade… Did that kid look… familiar?"

"No."

* * *

"Why can't we be in any of the tournaments? Starscream, you got to be in a couple early on, didn't you? How come us two don't ever get to?" Skywarp whines as he and his brethren Seekers occupy a box room positioned high in the subsurface stadium, overlooking the arena pit where twice a Deca-cycle more energon is spilt than can be replaced in the Gladiator tournaments.

"Skywarp, if you don't mute your vocalizer, I'll take you into the arena myself." Starscream keeps his back to his youngest brother and his optics locked onto the busy scene below at the entrance of the stadium.

Skywarp hides the slight sense of fear that passes through his chassis with a 'humph'. Yawning audibly, the purple flyer turns his attention to his more reserved brother, Thundercracker. "Hey, TC, wanna get slag-faced after this? There's a ton of places my friends told me to check out while we're here in Kaon."

Before Thundercracker can reply –if he had even been planning to –Starscream mocks his brother, "What 'friends'? You don't have any friends. You're lucky _we _keep you around." Despite the coldness of his words, the Air Commander's voice is bored and casual; making the statement even colder.

Skywarp, whose emotions are easily held sway by others, quickly retaliates against his oldest brother, "Frag you! I have friends! Lotsa friends! An _you two _sure ain't on the list!"

Thundercracker silently releases an outtake in exhaustion. Putting him in a room with Skywarp for more than a joor must be Megatron's way of punishing him for going AWOL; and it's getting the job done, perhaps even to an overkill extent.

Starscream's com link then signals an incoming call, "What is it?" he bites out.

Brawl's deep vocalizer thrums through the Seeker's processor, "Hey, Starscream, we're gonna wrap things up out front here. Barricade an I gotta get ready to go out onto the arena floor."

"Fine. We've got enough of a crowd to please Megatron in here." Cutting the link, Starscream returns to surveying the crowd from his high vantage point.

* * *

I squeeze myself through the crowd, not gaining a lot of attention as I make my way to a front row viewpoint. I reach a short wall that stands as high as my chin. Standing on the tips of my pedes, I peek over the ledge to find a huge arena below. There must be some kind of sporting event held here.

Before I let my mind begin wandering through possibilities and scenarios, I decide to review just why I've come. There must be some kind of clue here that will indicate something about who I am and just what kinds of things –and bots, perhaps—that I've been involved with. I find myself very unsure of my decision to come here, but I don't feel uncomfortable with my current situation. As long as no bot tries starting something, everything should be fine.

Suddenly, the lights go down, instantly bringing the huge stadium to a hushed standstill. An enormous set of vid screens displayed on the four sides of a center console hanging from the ceiling displays a face with bright red optics. The mech on the screen looks as though he may be some kind of fighter, scars stretching across his chiseled features and streaks of red war paint defining his cheeks.

I can sense the bots around me hold their intakes in some kind of awe-struck manner as the dark mech on the screen begins to speak.

"You have come here from many reaches across Cybertron. You have come because you were called forth, because you were chosen. You of Cybertron who are equally alive just as the rest of the world is, yet you were not granted a life of your own by the powers that reside upon their thrones of wealth and tyranny. I ask you now: why have you come? Was it by the forced will of another that you are here, or is it by a force you find in yourself that you have left your place in the society above to unite here as one?

"Despite where the powers that be have placed you in their world, here you are the ultimate powers of Cybertron. Here, we realize that we are not obsolete; we are not models of the last cycle to be sent to the smelting pools and replaced. We are not the tools of the weak who wield power through a corrupt system that aims to benefit only a select few. We are not a faceless brand. In coming here, you have realized that you are an individual, wielding the power of your own destiny! And here, we will all witness true life in the bringing of death!"

The crowd erupts in an uproar of cheering, some bots just flat-out screaming at the top levels of their vocalizers. Balled servos pump upward into the air, a unanimous rhythm beating into the atmosphere of the stadium. I feel a sense of awe towards this mysterious mech on the screen; I'm utterly stricken. Before I can question any further on the identity of this mech, I hear a chant begin to rise in the crowd.

ME-GA-TRON! ME-GA-TRON! ME-GA-TRON!

ME-GA-TRON! ME-GA-TRON! ME-GA-TRON!

So now I have a name to put to the faceplates, but just who is this Megatron? Where does he come from? What is he?

"Now how did you get here, Wilder? Surely your creators wouldn't permit you to come to a place like this."

I spin around on the heel of my pedes in surprise at being called by name and bump into a tall, red, white, and blue flyer of some kind. The mech smiles in a friendly manner, but something about him makes my plating crawl.

"Do I… know you?" I maintain a calm tone so as to not give away my uneasiness. My servo subconsciously hovers over the subspace compartment where my ray gun is.

I can tell by the way the Seeker's optics slowly squint that he knows I see through his veil of deceit, but nonetheless upholds his kind demeanor, "Why don't I take you back to your living quarters? I've been meaning to speak with your father, as it is."

The flyer reaches out for me, but I act on instinct and dodge the servo and dash deeper into the crowd. I can hear a sound of frustration leave the other's vocalizer, but it soon turns into amused cackling. As I weave and twist through the crowd in an attempt to lose the larger framed mech, I suddenly feel a presence levitating above me. Looking up, I see the flyer hovering directly over me, smiling down at me as though I am the most amusing thing he has ever laid optics on.

Looking ahead, I see a ramp leading to a lower level. I sprint through an opening in the crowd and down the ramp. I look back and find that the flyer has ceased his pursuit and wonder why.

I look around quickly in an attempt to get a grasp on where I am; it appears to be a long, wide hall that leads… to the arena floor…

My audio receptors are attacked by what sounds like an approaching hurricane. I turn just in time to see a pack of tall mechs –they look like warriors –charging down the dark hallway. I take off in the direction they're headed, but can't outrun them. I dodge the mechs and their stomping appendages as they run down the hall and spill out onto the arena, taking me with them.

Once I'm out of the hall and clear of the danger, I turn around to go back into the hall only to find that the entrance has been sealed by a blast door. This can't be good. I keep my back against the door as the other mechs fan out across their stage, waving their heavy weapons at their audience.

A few mechs in the stands above my position see me and I hear a barrage of mixed reviews; some shout in absolute anger, some break out in hysterical laughter. I'm forced to leave my place against the door when the crowd begins throwing random objects at me, cursing at me. What kind of bots are these?

I look around the arena in a desperate search for either a way out or for some kind of safe haven. The floor is scattered with scrapped chassis and parts, some gathered into massive heaps that could act as a tactical advantage –or a good hiding place. A loud horn sounds, indicating the beginning of whatever kind of competition this is. All the mechs gathered in the arena have their backs to one another, each facing the different doors lining the walls. I turn towards the center of the pit and begin climbing one of the high mounds, not caring one bit for the building suspense.

Suddenly, the doors in the walls of the arena space part open, revealing –what on Cybertron _are_ those? Some kind of huge, organic creatures come out of the numerous hallways –five to be exact. Each one looks as though it could fit three of me in their bellies, and have massive, blade-like teeth protruding from their mouths in all directions. That's one nasty lookin bite.

The four-legged creatures stalk out of their cages, nearly dragging their stomachs on the floor as they hold predatory stances, drawing near the mechs. A mad roar of excitement explodes in the crowd, they've seemingly forgotten about me. Now would be a good time to make amends with that flyer that was trying to grab me. Looking around from my heightened vantage point, I see no sign of the distinctive Seeker. I may be out of luck on this one.

My attention is pulled back to the floor of the arena as I hear an energon-curdling cry erupt from one of the warrior mechs. I look down just in time to see one of the organic creatures atop one of the mechs, ripping the energon lines out of his neck. The other mechs don't even flinch as their comrade goes down as they face the other four creatures. I'm unable to pry my optics away from the gory scene; I've never seen such a thing.

I have to do so, however, when I notice that the creature, covered with bright pink energon, turns its seven small, black eyes on me with intense interest.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Currently working on a picture with Mirage and Nightbeat bein happy kids :D Should be up within a few days. Got some of that good ol' action back in this chapter, Please Enjoy and Review!

To Vivienne Grainger: Ok… that last comment sounded way too cool XD 'with all his molecules aligned', that's gold! I got a good chuckle outta that one ^_^ Thank you for all of your reviews!

Thank you to my reviewers! Don't forget, the 'Anonymous Comment' is enabled (not sure if it works..) Don't be shy! :D

* * *

"Alright, Prowl. 'Train should be here any klik… You're sure about this?" A visored mech with a thick accent stands beside his fellow classmate of the Enforcer Academy along with a femme in an underground speedway, waiting on a ramp. "You're probably gonna lose all you've earned, maybe even more… Is it worth it?"

"Yes, Jazz. If this is what it takes to get things done…" Prowl discontinues, knowing that he must sound like a crazy renegade who's going to work outside the law. He turns to the femme beside him, whose optics look forward and beam with a coldness that makes her seem unreachable. Nonetheless, Prowl takes a chance and gently grasps her shoulder, "We're on our way, Minerva. We're going to bring him home."

The femme only nods in response, Prowl assumes she's doing all she can to keep her composure at the moment. He turns his processor to once more look at his fellow Senior classmate, Jazz. Although in different sections and aiming for very different careers, the two had met in their Freshmen year and were inseparable afterwards; mostly due to Jazz's insistence. Prowl has never been the most sociable mech, despite how polite and calm-mannered he is.

The two friends are almost polar opposites with their differences; Jazz is the creative improviser whereas Prowl is the formulated thinker. Chaos and order. It seems that on this recharge cycle, however, the tables have turned. Jazz is surprised that Prowl would ever take such a risk… but at the same time, he knows just how stubborn and passionately just the Praxian mech is.

This late recharge cycle trip wouldn't be possible if not for Jazz's resources; as a trainee in the black ops program, students are expected to gather a wealth of connections before their graduation. This is not an official requirement, of course, as it technically cannot receive a grade if the content is supposed to be kept secret.

All three bots turn their processors when a rattling and clacking sound approaches on the track beside the ramp they're on. Jazz speaks, "That'd be your ride, bro. Keep in touch, I know you've got a mech up in the Hall o' Records, but just know you've got more options for the kinda intel they don't catch on the Grid." A train grinds to a halt before them, releasing a mass of steam that hides the legs of the bots, giving them a ghost-like appearance. Jazz, being a tad superstitious, doesn't take well to seeing his friend look like a floating entity just before he's going to leave on a train; perhaps never to be seen again. "Prowl…"

Both Prowl and Minerva pause as they're about to enter the train. The young Praxian speaks, "Yes?"

"… Be careful, a'ight? There ain't enough bots like you in the justice department, an… I don't care what side a' Cybertron you from, we're brothers, you got that?" He reaches out his servo and it is accepted by a white one. The servos grasp one another firmly for a moment before the train announces its departure status. Releasing his friend, Jazz takes a step back as the doors slide shut, separating them.

The mech and femme find a seat aboard the train –easy to do as they're the only ones occupying it.

Minerva rests her processor against Prowl's shoulder, much to his surprise, "You don't mind, do you? I haven't gotten a wink of recharge for… I'm not sure."

"Not at all." He speaks gently, as though she's already in recharge.

The two sit quietly for a few kliks until the femme speaks again, "Prowl… thank you. I'm not sure how I would've—"

"You don't need to thank me. If anything, I ought to be apologizing on behalf of my department… And we both want Nightbeat back home."

The femme releases an air intake as recharge once again begins pulling at her optics. However, they refuse to offline as another question vexes her, "Prowl… Do you think Nightbeat's safe right now?"

Prowl looks out the window across from where he is seated, his logic center working the chances of Nightbeat's current status, "He's with a politician and his wife… I believe he's probably living in the lap of luxury at this very moment."

* * *

I go tumbling pede-over-processor down the huge mound of offlined chassis after having tripped while dodging a swipe from the strange, organic creature that has apparently put me on its menu. I come to an abrupt halt in my rolling as my faceplates meet the hard floor of the arena. My senses fog for a moment before the sounds and lights rise to an unbearable level.

The crowd cheers manically for the display before them. One of the organics are down, three of the warrior mechs are scrapped; that leaves me, two other warriors, and four of the organics –one of which is about to pounce me!

I roll out of the way and get onto my pedes running. I find myself running blindly as my visor fails to adjust to the bright lights directed into the pit of the arena. Skidding into a tunnel that appears to have been precariously formed in one of the scrap heaps, I reach up to my visor and find that a good portion of it is missing, totally exposing my right optic.

Before I can react to this discovery, I'm interrupted by a huge paw that reaches into the tunnel I've found haven in. I yelp in surprise as the huge, clawed appendage digs at the scrap metals around the sides of the space, trying to either gain leverage or to widen the entrance. The paw pulls back for a moment only to be replaced by the beast's ugly head. I kick it on the top side of its head, aiming for the bunch of beady eyes. The creature howls and quickly retreats.

I assume the creature won't be gone for too long and will return with a vengeance, so I look around to see if I have any options for an escape. I begin pushing against the scrap metal behind me and feel relief as it easily falls aside, revealing another tunnel way. I hear a muffled eruption from the stadium audience and assume another death has been met outside the scrap heap I occupy.

Crawling further down the tunnel, I eventually come to an opening back out to the floor. Deciding that it would be best to just stick around in here until this all blows over, I'm about to get as comfortable as I can when I feel the heap begin to shake. I assume someone must be standing on it, and I have to shoot out of the tunnel just as it begins collapsing in on itself.

Lying on my front side, I struggle to catch my intakes before sensing an oncoming threat. I turn over just in time to see a different organic than the one that was pursuing me about to land on top of me, but a huge warrior bashes its skull in midair with a war hammer. The giant tank-former doesn't even pause as he moves on to his next quarry.

Deciding not to wait around for another organic to find me, I shove myself onto my pedes and make a dash for another scrap heap to find shelter. I'm brought to a skidding halt, however, when yet another organic suddenly appears at the top of the pile I was aiming for. I fall backwards onto my aft-plate and begin kicking my pedes in an attempt to scoot away from the creature as it leaps –what is it with these things and jumping? Are they trying to fly? –and lands its two massive paws onto my chest compartment, slamming me into the ground and sending the air out of my vents.

Just before the creature is about to eat my faceplates, a curved energon blade swiftly cuts through the air –and through the organic's head. The heavy body of the organic collapses onto me, trapping me. I turn my processor to watch where the blade returns to, and its owner looks like the shorter mech who had let me into the stadium. The enigmatic mech disappears over a scrap mound as soon as he receives his blade.

I squirm underneath the organic body until I'm able to free my arms. As I awkwardly pull the rest of my chassis free, I feel a second weight on the organic. Looking up, _another_ organic creature –the one whose eyes I had kicked –stands atop its fallen fellow organic. The creature releases a bellow that I'm able to hear even over the ecstatic cries of the audience, and I notice something curious about the organic's throat. I wrench my pedes free and just as I'm standing, the creature bats me as though I am a bit of grime under its claw. I'm sent hurtling into a far end of the arena, smacking backwards into another heap of chassis, leaving an impressive indent.

I struggle frantically to straighten my spinning senses, my optics fritzing and fizzling out of focus while my audios feel as though they're bleeding energon from the crowd's constant cheering. My optics come fully online just as the creature is approaching me at a frightening speed, looking like a missile with its locks set on me.

Formulating a plan, I position myself to have one of my pedes raised in the air before me with its tip pointed forward. I keep my raised leg bent at the knee and ready myself for the inevitable impact as the creature once more launches itself into the air. As the organic beast comes down on me with its ugly mouth wide open, I launch my own counterattack, delving my pede into the mouth of the monster.

The curious thing I had noticed when the creature had roared was that it has an incredibly small throat at the back of its mouth; an odd characteristic for a predator, but nonetheless a fact. Once my pede is wedged far enough into the beast's throat, I twist it upwards, completely blocking the organic's airway.

I scream in pain as the creature's various teeth gnash into my leg, wrestling about in an attempt to rip it straight off. Wishing to move this process along with less ripping leg cables, I grab a long, metal rod from the scrap heap and begin slamming it against the creature's eyes. The creature is clearly in a panic as it tries backing itself out of this mess, but I move forward with it using my other pede and arms to navigate; if I can't keep my pede jammed in its throat long enough to choke it out, I'm offline.

I can't even hear the roaring crowd all around me as the pain bleeds into every part of my processor, and I literally see red as my optics once more begin shorting out. At long last, the creature makes one more attempt to pull free before collapsing on its side, defeated. I stare at the organic's black eyes, the white shine reflecting off of them making it appear as though it may be alive still. I let my chassis collapse in exhaustion, and I feel my intakes quiver as tears of energon begin rushing from my optics.

* * *

"Fraggin' tough little slagger. Scrap, if he can survive the arena, hows come we can't go in?"

"Skywarp. This isn't the time."

"C'mon, TC! Don't you wanna be innit too? Think of all the femmes we'd get, the free high-grade at the pubs!"

"You mean you don't already get all that? Most Seekers do, you know. But I suppose it's typical that you wouldn't."

"Frag you, Starscream! You're such a liar!"

"Be quiet, you two. He's onlining."

My optics slowly buzz online, focusing in and out until I can make out three figures looming over me. One of them is the Seeker from earlier. A blue one with gentler optics leans in closer to me, forcing my optics to focus on him.

"Hey, you were out for quite a while. You're in the med bay of the stadium; all patched up. How do you feel?"

The blue flyer is then interrupted by a purple one, "An how the frag did you get into the arena pit?" He is briefly shoved out of my sight by the blue flyer, but he soon returns to his place, glaring at the other.

I open my mouth, but my vocal chords are too sore to speak. The blue flyer disappears for a moment before returning with a cube of energon. He sits me up and helps me drink some. That's when the red and white Seeker cuts into the conversation.

"I must say, you put up quite the fight. I was expecting that I would have to present you to your creators in pieces." A wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his lip components, "But I suppose that won't be the case."

The purple flyer speaks again, "Didja see Brawl an Barricade? They _nailed_ those organics! I don't think they even saw this kid! You think they just go into some kinda zone an—"

"Be quite, Skywarp. Go idolize the ground-pounders elsewhere." The red Seeker –I think his designation is Starscream –snaps at his fellow flyer.

"I'm not _idolizing _them, you aft! I'm just saying, they did good…"

"We should take the child home, Starscream. The solar cycle is nearly here." The blue one speaks with a cool voice, easing my nervousness that the other two seem to stir up in my circuitry. How do they know where I live? They clearly know my father… but why would anybot involved in this – this Gladiator scene –know my father, a politician? This is unsettling.

"Oh, can I?" The purple flyer seems excited at the opportunity of showing off his aerial skills, even if to a sparkling.

"You'd probably drop him, and it's much too early for such a bold message. No, I'll take him home. We'll let the Emirate know all he needs to know, we'll let him know who's really in control." Starscream's smile takes on a wicked gleam as he looks at me as though I'm a fresh cube of high-grade. I notice that the blue Seeker turns his faceplates away from the other two, some kind of anger briefly passing his features. I'll have to remember him.

I flinch as my sore chassis is roughly collected by the red and white flyer. I feel like spitting on him or biting him when he chuckles at my pain-scrunched faceplates, but decide that may not be the best plan if he's going to be taking me on a flight.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Wish me luck, ya'll. Currently in a bidding war for a G1 Siren... XD Who's up for an 'overenergized' destructive duo? Please Enjoy and Review!

Don't forget to read the previous chapter I posted Tuesday for all ya readers who hit this primarily on the weekends ^_^ Also got another out on Sunday.

To Vivienne Grainger: Thankya, that little trick Nightbeat used with the organic is actually something I learned to do should a pitbull ever get a hold of your arm -if it's already going into its mouth, may as well try to make it worth something in the struggle. Hopefully that won't ever happen to any of us though XD

Thank you to my reviewers!

* * *

Mirage lies on the makeshift berth in the Enforcer femme's office, his yellow optics the only light in the dark space save the glow that seeps through the shuttered window from the city outside. The sparkling shifts uncomfortably on the piece of furniture that is intended to be used as a simple couch, not a recharge berth. He feels a strange sense of guilt, or perhaps shame as he scolds himself for being so spoiled. How did Nightbeat recharge when he was at his real home? Maybe he didn't even have a berth; maybe he only had the ground.

The blue and white sparkling holds his intakes for a moment to listen to the voice of the femme as she speaks on a com link in the other room; doesn't she ever recharge? Whatever she's working on, she's doing so with a persistence Mirage has never seen.

Mirage finally sits up as the feelings of tightness and uncomfortable waves of worry overcome the weight on his tired optic sensors. He can't stand this waiting. He had gone around with the femme, visiting the different sectors of the city, but no luck. What if the femme is just tricking him? After the way Ironhide bluntly ignored him, why should he rely on _any _adult?

Why should he?

Mirage got a good feel for the city, and he remembers how he could reach the upper class districts from here; Nightbeat has _got_ to be there.

He is about to get off the couch when a question strikes him: why is he doing so much for a kid he just met? What's so special about this Nightbeat that he would take such a risk? He's never done anything like this before. Stowing away on a helicopter, unknowing of where it may take him, and now he's chasing down a crazy couple with mad power here in Kaon –the worst of the city states!

Mirage sits in this thought for a while, loosing track of time for a moment.

It's simple, really. Things don't need to be complicated with several factors and meanings. Simply put, Nightbeat is the dearest friend he's ever had. It doesn't matter that they only had one good tussle in the dirt, or that they only laughed together for a short time. He treated Mirage just like another kid; and not out of sympathy for the lonely, rich brat. A bot like Nightbeat –the world can't afford to lose one like him. And neither can Mirage.

With his decision final and carved in stone, Mirage leaves the couch and quietly goes to the window, lifting the shutters to reveal a dazzling display of neon lights and shifty crowds. After taking one final quick listen into the other room by putting his audio sensor against the door, he makes his way to the window and finds he has to manually open it.

A gust of cold air brings Mirage into full awareness as he steps out onto the ledge of the second story. Looking around, he feels a sense of regret for not planning how he was going to get down _before_ he stepped out the window. However, he is quick to drop the thought as he catches sight of a fire escape just a few steps away.

Activating his cloaking device, Mirage inches his way to the fire escape and climbs down it; he feels a great sense of pride at having accomplished such a daring feat; not even giving thought to how simple the task was.

The street is bustling with all kinds of towering, rough looking mechs and femmes Mirage couldn't even begin to describe. He is unable to fathom how a fellow Cybertronian could appear so… alien. Deciding to walk along the outer rim of the crowd, Mirage begins mapping out his destination in his processor. Members of the crowd stop and look around themselves every now and then in confusion after they bump into an unseen figure and hear a small yelp. Mirage is used to having a lot more space when walking the streets in Iacon.

The mob-like masses eventually begin to dwindle down until finally Mirage is the only one walking a narrow street surrounded by what appear to be shoddy living complexes. Deciding that he'll need to reserve his energy, the little one deactivates his cloaking device and continues onward.

The lights have dwindled down significantly; the only sources now coming from rusty lamp posts that cast a nauseating, golden glow on the street and structures. The noise has faded into complete silence, leading Mirage to tread very carefully. Looking at the surrounding buildings, he doesn't even get the feeling that the bots inside –if there even are bots inside –are functioning; the silence is so intense that it brings about a feeling of… death.

The sparkling nearly jumps out of his chassis when he hears a sudden crash in a nearby alleyway. Too focused on seeing what the possible danger is, he forgets to activate his cloaking device as he stands ready to bolt.

"Yoooouu are stupid. Stupeeeeed. Ha. Ya juz' walked into a disposal unit, y'know. Y'don' even reeeaalize, do ya?" A small mech mouths off to a larger mech who has him slung over his shoulder as they depart from the alley. By the way the larger one is stumbling on his pedes, it is clear that both are overcharged.

"Hey, who's carryin whos right now? I kin' goes into _anythin_' I wants ta. Iz cuz I'm the one driving." The larger Cybertronian proceeds to lean too far forward into his next step and smashes his processor into a wall.

"Haaaay! Hey! Go ahead n' smash yerself up, bud I dun' wanna see… see a _single_ scratch on my aft. The femmes… they like… it like… shiny. An' not scratched up. Like I bet Starscream's is! He's so fraggin' dumb, he… he lands on his aft… n' not his pedes… when he's… landing?"

The two mechs burst into a ridiculous round of laughter, Mirage unable to see the joke. Just as the sparkling is about to take off, he is frozen in place out of fear when the larger mech sees him.

"Hey! Hey, look! It's umm… It's a, uh… look!" The brute jabs a servo digit in the youngling's direction.

The smaller mech loudly sighs in utter frustration as he hefts himself up enough on his elbows to look over the larger mech's shoulder at whatever he's pointing at, "Well, frag, dumbaft, iz called a 'kid'. You of all mechs to forget _that_." The mech proceeds to let himself fall back limply over the larger one's shoulder.

"Hmm? Whaddaya mean? Oh, oh hey! Megsy, er, Megertrin… Megzata, yup, um, he –hic –he _wanted_ a kid, didn't he?"

"**What?**" the smaller mech sounds as though it is the most absurd thing he's ever heard.

"He wanted… us to like... _find_… a kid. The Emizat's kid. This might be him! I… I think it is!" Without warning, the large mech suddenly bounds forward and snatches Mirage by his arm and lifts him into the air. Mirage begins screaming at the top of his vocal settings.

"AAARGH! Would you shut dat fing _UP?_ Ffffffffffffrag!"

The mech seizing Mirage clasps his other servo over the little one's mouth, muffling the noise. "Y—OW! He's –he's **biting **me! Whadda I do?"

"Use za –the fire hose!"

"What fire hose?"

"Uh, pumme down!" The large mech shuffles until the smaller one slides off his shoulder, the smaller falling straight onto his aftplate. "I tol' you! I tol' you 'bout my aft! Gimme da thing!" He roughly takes the sparkling from the other.

"Wait, don't keel him!"

"Ssssssssssshut up." The mech now holding Mirage pinches an energon line in the child's neck until the struggling slowly ceases. "See? I put him into nap-mode. Now we's can take 'im back all nice-like." He throws the sparkling over his taller comrade's shoulder then turns to lead the way.

"Can you teach me that?"

"Why, yous gon' use it on a **femme** or somethin'?" The mech makes an obscene gesture towards his companion and chuckles.

"No! I'll use it… hm… I know! I'll do it to Skywarp every time he starts yakkin'."

"Hn. That'd be funny funny funny." The shorter mech trips and does a face dive into the street, "Mmmmmrrrrg. What happened to de lights?" He breaks out into a hysterical fit of laughter while his comrade once more hefts him over his shoulder, "Whoooooooo! I'm upside down! Lookit, I kin' see… herm… all I can see is your fat aft. Why aren't there any nice femmes here? Is it too much… to ask? They're all—" He proceeds to empty his tanks onto the backs of the other mech's pedes. "Oops. I… I didn' see nothin'."

"What's that smell?"

"Your motherboard. Shut up an let's go home."

"Nyaww, see? I knew you saws Kaon as home… Not… Iazorn."

"Shut up. Your voice is hurting my optical seeing-ers." The mech closes his optics and allows a stream of lubricant to roll out of his mouth and down his face as he loosely hangs, swaying back and forth with the movement of the other's steps.

"Your optics-? Wait, are you gonna cry?"

"What? You're… You're so fraggin' stupid. I don't cry. I only… spit fire. Blue fire. An' cool music comes from the fire's core."

"It's okay to cry." The large mech speaks in a soft, understanding tone.

"'m not gonna CRY!"

* * *

Silhouette lunges forward out of recharge with frantic optics darting across her surroundings.

"Mmm, Sill? What is it?" Xeon slowly pulls himself out of recharge to see what troubles his sparkmate. He yawns as he tenderly rubs her arm in a comforting gesture.

"Where's Wilder?" The femme stares forward, her frame deathly still, her tone unreadable.

Xeon comes into full wakefulness as he feels a twist in his tanks. That question could mean so many different things, and with Silhouette… "He's asleep, love. I put him on his berth a few joors ago."

"No…" She slowly slides out of the berth and out of her lover's reach and moves as quietly and as smoothly as a phantom across the room to the bedroom door.

The Emirate is deeply disturbed by his sparkmate's behavior and is quick to leave the berth to follow her as she goes into the main living room. He fears another one of her 'episodes' may be on its way as he watches her slowly move about towards the front door, the pale light of the recharge cycle glistening on her chassis. "Love… come back to the berth, it's cold outside." He approaches her, cautiously, and touches her elbows in a manner to lead her away from the door.

She slowly turns her processor to look at him… but her optics don't even appear to register his existence, and she looks back to the front door; staring at the access panel.

Xeon tries another method to bring his sparkmate back to reality, "Sill, love, would you like to go with me to check on Wilder? I'm sure he's soundly recharging." The femme is unmoving, her pedes planted firmly to where she stands.

That's when the sound of jet turbines outside startles both bots.

"Silhouette, wait!" The Emirate is unable to stop his sparkmate as she opens the front door and runs outside into the open aired courtyard. He follows directly behind her and before he can even bring his optics up to the source of the noise, the femme screams in horror.

"NOOOOOOO!" Silhouette scrapes her servos down her cheekplates in utter hysteria as she looks up at the scene before her: hovering above their courtyard, a familiar red and white Seeker firmly grasps her child, a genial smile playing across his features.

The Emirate protectively encircles his arms around his sparkmate as her knees give under her, supporting her weight. His optics blaze with fury as he looks to the Air Commander, "Starscream what is the meaning of this!"

"Why, I'm only doing you a favor and bringing your sparkling home safely. He somehow found his way into one of the Gladiator stadiums –as well as into the tournament itself. You've quite the little fighter, Emirate Xeon." Starscream gushes with pure delight at the terribly tragic scene he's crafted with merely his arrival.

"If you've hurt him-" the Emirate stops in mid-sentence as he sees the sparkling's processor move.

"Dad?" the sparkling looks up at his captor, gathers his surroundings, then turns to find where the source of his father's voice is, "Dad!" The sparkling begins struggling in the flyer's hold, only to be roughly subdued by a sharp set of servo digits digging into his side plating that still aches from the earlier battle with the organic. His resistance instantly ceases.

Having control over the child once more, Starscream smiles down at the one in his grasp before returning his attention to the politician and his sparkmate, "Emirate. My lord is **most** upset with this little game you're playing. If I were you, I would return to Iacon and finish what must be done; what has been agreed upon. You have such a lovely family –once again. You must support your family, Emirate, and you must keep them safe. The only way for a mech to do so is to do his job, don't you agree, Emirate?" He holds optic contact with the mech for a moment before slowly descending but never touches his pedes to the ground.

Silhouette is unable to be held back as she races forward to accept her child from the Seeker. She twists away from him once she has her son in her arms, quickly shielding his tiny frame with her own. Her optics spill a blazing red light of hatred towards the flyer, his only response a wink.

Starscream ascends once more to hover over the courtyard and turns to the Emirate, "I trust you'll consider my advice with some priority, Emirate. We are not to be toyed with." He is about to leave, when another thought crosses his mind, "And by the way, what a nice makeover you've given your son. He reminds me of another." And with that, the Seeker transforms and ignites his thrusters, shooting off into the atmosphere with a speed unmatched by anything else in the skies.

The Emirate is solemn as he stands in the courtyard, watching his family. His son appears shaken, and looks as though he's gone through some kind of clash; a portion of his visor is missing, revealing one of his stunning, gold optics. His sparkmate squeezes him against her frame, whispering assurances of protection and love. The child accepts the feverish shows of affection from his shaken mother before turning his faceplates to look at his father.

Silhouette is reluctant to release her child as he pulls away to approach his father. The child stands before him, his optics drifting down to the ground and back up to his. The sparkling feels guilty about something. Starscream had said that… Wilder… had 'found his way' to the stadium. Did that mean that he went on his own will, that he wasn't taken?

The Emirate kneels to be more leveled with his son and pulls him into a deep embrace. They can talk about it at the rise of the solar cycle.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Won that Siren. He's on his way :D Got my first anonymous review! So it does work ^_^

To my 1st anonymous reviewer: …you're awesome XD Starscream held himself back for now (cue ominous music) as for Mirage, he's about to get into more trouble than Nightbeat. Thank you for your comment! ^_^

Thank you to all my other reviewers!

Please Enjoy and Review (PEaR… yes, have a pear :D)

* * *

"What do you_**mean**_** '**he's not here'?"

Red Alert, a current Junior at the Enforcer Academy of Iacon, fidgets with his servos as he gathers his hesitant nerves together to respond to the irate Sentinel Major, "W-w-well… Sir… Uh, it's just as I said –Prowl was not in his dorm room when I went to give him his instructions for how his time in suspended parole is to be spent, and—and—I've checked all the halls and have gone through the entire campus –not that his parole details allow him to leave his room, they don't, but I still checked everywhere. He's not here." Red Alert's optics glance at a nearby chair and for a moment he wishes he could crawl under it and build a fort.

Sentinel Major is absolutely perplexed by this news. Did Prowl run away? Well, perhaps 'run away' is not the proper term for a Senior student at an Academy; AWOL seems more fitting. The Enforcer Commander stands from his seat behind his desk and paces to and from a window for a moment. Looking back to Red Alert, he sees that the young mech is about to loosen the bolts in his joints with the way the kid's trembling, "Ah, thank you, Red Alert. Why don't you go to the Security office and see if you can dig up any vid feeds from the recharge cycle—"

"I've—I've already gone through the recordings, sir. It seems… It seems that a portion of the recordings are—well, it appears as though the camera lenses were shielded for a brief moment. Nothing was captured in the feeds." The young Academy student wrings his servos as if this is his fault.

A tension-laced silence fills the office. "That will be all, then, Red Alert. Thank you for the work you've done. You're dismissed." Sentinel Major folds his arms and holds his chin with a servo, his optics blazing with anger.

Red Alert is out the door before the Department Chief can even look his way in departure. Sentinel Major has a good hunch as to who may have been involved in this. It's an easy conclusion to come to, seeing that Prowl isn't a social mechafly with a large circle of friends. Sentinel turns and briskly leaves his office.

Jazz lazily sprawls out upside-down on his berth as he reassembles a practice gun without looking. A loud knocking on his dorm room door causes him to jolt in surprise, simultaneously dropping the barrel of the gun. Sitting up on his berth, Jazz scolds himself for such a mistake. He has to be able to cope with surprises while out on the field; a comrade's life could depend on it.

Standing and going to his door, the cool-tempered bot isn't too surprised to find who's on the other side, "Sentil Major, sir. To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" Jazz smiles brightly at the mech.

Sentinel's expression, however, isn't as genial as the Black-Ops student's, "Jazz. I think you know why I'm here." He watches the younger mech's faceplates with sharp optics in an attempt to see any kind of shift that would indicate if Jazz is about to lie; unfortunately, in the Black-Ops program, they train you to keep a neutral visage under interrogation.

Just as the Department Chief feared, Jazz's expression upholds its cheeriness without a single flinch, "You finally decided to introduce me to dat pretty niece o' yours?"

"Where's Prowl, Jazz?"

"Prowl? He's on suspension, idn' he? I ain't seen him since. Is that all, sir?" Jazz leans casually on the frame of the doorway, getting comfortable.

Sentinel Major stares at the mech for a moment, his optics squinting in irritation. "You're only going to make things harder for both yourself and Prowl, Jazz. Keep that in mind." He turns to leave the student dorms, "You know where to find me should you remember anything."

Jazz watches him leave, his smile sinking into an unreadable line. Prowl better know what the Pit he's doing.

* * *

"Fraggit." Roulette stands in her office, reading a note left on the make-shift berth she had left the mystery sparkling on at the start of the recharge cycle. The light of the early solar cycle pours in through the open window, probably the kid's exit point. She had checked on the kid a few times throughout the recharge cycle, and he had been in deep recharge—or so she had thought.

Leaving her office, Roulette walks through the main room of the Enforcer Department; most of which is empty. Not many are willing to take on the job of Enforcer in Kaon, and those that do are either crazy or have corrupt intentions. Roulette supposes she must fall in the first category. Making her way to the front entrance of the department, she nods in greeting to the few staff members that are on duty. By usual Enforcer Department standards, this would be considered a skeleton crew, but not in Kaon; this is over half the force.

"Ah, Roulette, ya got a mech an' femme at the reception desk. Young one sez he knows you." A fellow Enforcer calls to Roulette as she passes his desk.

"Thanks…" Roulette doesn't like surprise visits. She subconsciously brushes her servo over her holstered sidearm, feeling the solid power it offers assuring her. Her walk takes on an edgier step, making her look even more threatening than she already does. Her shoulders drop from their high-held position, however, when she sees just who is waiting for her at the front of the department. "I don't slaggin believe it…"

A young, white mech hears her and turns to acknowledge her, only to briefly freeze up before speaking, "Roulette, it's been a long time."

Roulette stops where she is, a few paces away from the mech, and puts her servos on her hips, cocking her processor to one side, "Well well, indeed it has been." She looks the young mech up and down before letting a smile finally break on her faceplates, "You've grown up, Prowl." Stepping forward, she takes him into a friendly embrace before stepping back and clasping a servo on his shoulder, "I haven't seen you since I graduated; you were just a Freshman back then."

"That's right." Prowl's voice is soft and he offers a small smile as he clears his throat; these little gestures earn a smirk from the femme beside him, bringing her to Roulette's attention.

"Hi there, I'm Roulette. I went to the Academy with Prowl." Her offered servo is accepted with a surprising amount of strength; this femme looks delicate, but she's got some power in her. At the same time, she seems weak somehow; tired, perhaps. She's going through something right now.

"Minerva. It's nice to meet you." Both femmes smile amiably at one another.

Roulette turns back to Prowl, "So, what brings you to Kaon? You here to see your cousin, Smokescreen? To be honest, I haven't seen him around for a while. I think the mech's been chased outta town by a bad bet or something. But Bluestreak's still here on that Sophomore-year internship deal."

"Actually, I've come to ask for your help." Prowl looks around the room, making sure that nobot is in audio-shot of their conversation.

Catching the gestural cue, Roulette's faceplates fall to a more somber expression and she turns to lead them to her office, "This way."

* * *

Starscream.

I know that name.

I know that voice.

But how? From where?

_"_"_Megatron has requested that I give you an overview of where your most gracious contributions are going, as well as our progress in those matters."_

There it is again, the same audio file that keeps replaying in my processor. It's that Seeker's voice, I know it. And it mentions Megatron, that mech I saw on the screen in the stadium last recharge cycle. I can't seem to pull up any visual memory files to go along with the audio, though. It's almost like it was deliberately recorded to be stored on my processor's hard drive; like it isn't the same kind of file a normal memory is. Who was he talking to? Why was I there to hear it?

This is frustrating.

It's also strange how I can look at the ray gun I found in the energon channel and feel a sense of sentiment attached to it yet when I look at the contents of my own room it all feels foreign. I absently begin whistling a tune that my femme caretaker had been humming to me. It sounds familiar, but I suppose it's something she must have used to lull me to recharge with before my little 'accident'.

I wish I didn't have so much time to think. I wish I could just live the life I have; but what if it's not the life I was meant to? What if I belong somewhere else, with a different name? What if I have a true creator waiting for me somewhere? That femme I saw in the courtyard in Iacon, what had she called me? Nightbeat. I like that name; a lot more than I like 'Wilder'. I could be a 'Nightbeat', couldn't I? Now that I think about it, that femme's framework looked a lot like mine…

That's when I hear the front door to our living quarters open; dad must be home for lunch. I press my audio receptor against my bedroom door –the one that's been locked from the outside ever since dad left for work earlier.

"Is he still in his room?" I hear my father ask.

"He… Yes. He is. And he's going to stay there. He's safe in there." Silhouette returns.

I feel my tanks tighten as I hear nothing for a moment.

"Silhouette… we're only keeping him in his room as punishment for five joors—and that time is up now. Let's bring him out here so we can talk to him." I hear my father's pedesteps approach as he speaks.

Lighter pedes quickly follow his, "Darling –darling, wait, it's not safe out here, there are so many windows, what if they _see_ him?"

What on Cybertron is she talking about?

My father speaks with a lowered, firm voice, "Silhouette, we can't keep him in his room forever. Nor can we live in fear, do you understand me?" I hear my door shift as he tries opening it, "What –what is this? You have him locked in there? Sill, what are you thinking?" I hear both sets of pedes go back into the living room, perhaps to gain more privacy.

"But, but Xeon –they'll take him away! And—and he's so smart, Xeon, he doesn't need to go to school, and, and I can bring him his meals—"

"Stop it, Silhouette. You don't realize what you're saying."

"Oh, don't I? Don't I? I'm saying I want to keep my son **safe**! What's the matter with you, don't you?"

"Silhouette, of course I do, but this is not the way! We can't keep him locked away, he's not a prisoner!" I hear my father's pedes approach once more, and I hear him pressing the keys on the access panel to the door. "By the Pit—Silhouette, what is the code? You can't keep him in there!"

"Get away from that door! Do you want them to find out where he is?" Her voice is shrill in emotion. I slowly back away from the door. Something bad is going to happen.

"Silhouette, control yourself! Don't—Stop it, Silhouette!"

I hear a struggle begin outside my bedroom door. I hear my father grunt as a loud slap reverberates through the air, bringing a loud gasp from me. I hear my father further plead with his sparkmate as the tussle continues; **what is this? **I feel my optics begin to burn and I feel helpless as I stand there. Finally having enough, I run to the door and begin pounding my servos against it.

"STOP! STOP IT! PLEASE, DON'T!" I scream frantically as my emotions get the best of me. "STOP!" I continue to beat the door until I feel drained all of a sudden, my knees giving as I slide down the face of the door, my intakes hiccupping as my frustration becomes unbearable. At this point, I'm so angry—so sad, I'm not sure which –that I just scream, unable to form words.

When I stop, I find myself lying completely on the floor, my faceplates pressed against the surface and I struggle to listen to what is happening on the other side of the door. Nothing. It's completely quiet. What happened? Is one of them hurt? What will I do if the victor opens the door and—and I'm scared?

I hear a high-pitched intake from the other side of the door—I think one of them is crying; I think it's the femme. I hear a deep sigh; my father. Looking through the tiny space beneath the door, I see their pedes gathered close together. I think they're hugging.

I quickly sit up and move away from the door when it opens after a few kliks. Both of my caretakers stand there, looking down at me with sorrow-filled optics. I can't hold myself back and run up to them both, taking as much of their frames into my embracing arms as I can. The embrace is returned, double-fold. We sit in silence for a long, long time.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: hope you guys enjoyed the drunkard Brawl and Barricade in Ch.25, here's the aftermath XD

To Vivienne Grainger: Indeed, things are going to start happening really fast in this story, and I hope it won't be too fast ^_^ Also, Roulette is actually a canon character, I didn't make her. She's not very well known, I think she only appeared in one of the Universe comics, as did Silhouette (who's real canon name is ShadowStalker, but the writers originally wanted to name her Silhouette and I like that name better). As for Emirate Xeon, he was only pictured in maybe five panels in the War Within comics :D I like choosing the lesser known characters, ^_^ there's so much more wiggle space for developing them as I like. I may make an OC someday, but for this story, pure canon. Thank you for your reviews!

Thank you to my reviewers!

Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

On the far outskirts of Kaon's city capital are the mining districts. Here is the main source of output and income for the city-state; the energon and cybertronium mines. The bots of Kaon could be living in luxury if they kept what they worked hard to produce, but alas are tied in intertwining contracts with the powers of both Kaon and Iacon's governments that provide little if any wiggle space; and any loopholes are well kept secrets that no Kaonian can afford to buy from swindling higher-ups.

The mining bots of Kaon are a sight to be reckoned with. Towering mechs measure twice the height of the average Cybertronian, at times even more so. The gritty servos of these workers each bear the power to pinch a bot's processor into a flat piece of scrap without even giving much effort. Their massive pedes crush and send veins of cracks through the surfaces upon which they tread. Most of these bots don't even see the light of the solar cycle or wash their chassis for deca-cycles, their frames nearly becoming one with the deep, black mines they learn to call home.

Every passing cycle, megatons upon megatons of life-giving energon are dug up from the mines, yet most of the miners themselves are scrapping by on near-empty tanks. This energon, in its purest form, is sent to refining factories outside of Kaon, where it will be organized and manufactured into different grades; low to high.

In the heart of one of these mining districts is the Smelting Pool, surrounded by the fortress-like structure known only to the wise as Kolkular. Deep within the bowls of this structure that burrows into the subsurface of Cybertron, a small portion of the growing Decepticon army takes shelter to await orders and keep a safe watch over the numerous secrets held within. Although a seemingly harmless and perhaps even dismal shell from first glance, Kolkular bears within it the power to overtake Kaon along with its neighboring city-states in one cycle's time.

It is within this dark, arcane structure that a young sparkling from the High Tower Pavilions of Iacon awakes to find himself. Mirage slowly comes to, feeling the cold surface of the floor pressed to his cheek plating, his spinal column complaining for want of a softer surface to recline on. Lifting himself off the floor, the young gentlemech has to steady himself as his optics black out for a moment before returning to a blurred state.

The sparkling is startled when he hears a deep, strange, grumbling sound. Quickly activating his cloaking device, Mirage turns around in his seated position and searches the darkness around him. His chronometer indicates it's getting to be late in the solar cycle; has he been asleep ever since last recharge cycle? Wait, last recharge cycle—

He's been sparklingnapped!

Hearing the strange noise once more, Mirage focuses his optics and makes out a figure reclined partially on the floor and on a berth—the big mech that had grabbed him! He's… snoring… and smells _awful_.

There was another –a shorter mech as well. Mirage glances about in search for the other abductor; he appears to be in some kind of bunking room, filled with four berths and storage units. There's something curious about one of the storage units.

Protruding from one of the large, box-like units is a leg, a twitchy one, at that. Mirage takes a dare and slowly approaches the appendage and pokes at the pede. A muffled grumble is his response. Well, that solves where the other mech is. From the smell of the room, these two must still be overcharged. Mirage has seen similar 'after parties' before in the Towers; same level of class and everything.

Sneering in distaste at the two would-be captors, Mirage searches for a way out. Finding a door, he touches the access panel. The door makes a loud, scrapping sound as it grinds across the cheap, rusty frame. Mirage cringes the entire time until the door is finally open. Looking back, it would appear that his escorts are too long gone to have even noticed the terrible sound.

Stepping out into the narrow, dimly lit hallway, Mirage worries for a moment if there's something he might catch in this dank, decaying structure. He struggles to step lightly as every movement seems to incite a squealing complaint from the uneven floor panels.

After nearly a joor of wandering, Mirage begins feeling dizzy as he seems to be seeing the same places over and over no matter how many different turns he takes. This place is massive! A sense of claustrophobia begins setting in as the sparkling feels the narrow hallways closing in. Finally, Mirage breaks out into a sprint, desperate to find his way out, to find some fresh air.

Turning a corner in his fleeing, Mirage yelps when he crashes into something solid. He falls back onto his aftplate and his cloaking device fritzes out, exposing his position. With fast intakes and fearful optics, Mirage looks up to see a tall mech with blazing red optics and an impressive frame that almost seems to attract all the cast shadows of the hall.

"…Where did you come from, little one?"

* * *

Roulette hands her company a cube of energon and sips from her own. "So your child went missing in Sector Capri. I'm sorry you've been going through this, Miss Minerva. Prowl, I too have a missing sparkling case involving a little one named 'Mirage'. I had found him wandering the streets; kid said he's from Sector Capri as well. Unfortunately, he doesn't fit your description of your Nightbeat and he's up and disappeared from my custody since the start of this cycle. Two kids coming from Sector Capri and ending up in Kaon. Any relation, you think?"

Prowl sips his energon, "I suppose it wouldn't be wise to set the possibility to the side. But Roulette, we know who has Nightbeat." Roulette pauses in drinking her energon to hear this.

Minerva continues, "The Emirate of Kaon and his sparkmate have him. They somehow got a hold of him in Iacon, and… they've brought him here."

Roulette nearly chokes on her drink but tries hiding it, "The—the Emirate? Kaon's Emirate? Xeon?" She sets her cube down on her desk, dancing her fingers across the top rim of it, "I, uh, I heard about his leaving for a trip to Iacon, some kind of political business… but… listen, he's the corrupt breed, I get that—but taking a child? It just… doesn't fit his profile…" Roulette continues to fidgets with her cube, her optics darting around the room.

"And what about his sparkmate?" Minerva eyes Roulette suspiciously. She doesn't like the femme Enforcer's reaction to hearing the Emirate mentioned one bit. This may be a mistake asking for her help.

Roulette and Minerva lock optics for a moment, Minerva trying to see any further revelations through slips in the Enforcer's poker face. Not fully grasping what the femmes are up to, Prowl breaks the tense silence.

"We saw Nightbeat ourselves in Iacon. His physical appearance has been modified, and they've done something to his hard-drive to lead him to not recognize us, but we know it was him." Prowl's optics steadily follow Roulette's as she contemplates what has been laid before her. Something's spooked her, that's for sure. "Your assistance would be a great advantage in this, Roulette, but if you can't—"

"Now, wait. I ain't said nothin' about not helping you… but... well, the Emirate and I… We've got some… ties. May make things a little… difficult…" Roulette turns her back to the mech and femme seated in her office, chewing her lower lip component in anxiety.

Prowl is a little unsettled to see this uncertainty take a hold of Roulette; this isn't her style. He's known her long enough to know she isn't the kind to feel threatened by anything. Something Prowl can't see is going on in the femme's processor, "Roulette—"

"Please help us." Minerva stands and looks to Roulette with steady optics. "One way or another, I'm getting my son back. I don't care what it takes. We have the full potential to do this on our own, but I can't guarantee Kaon will be intact when I'm through with it."

Roulette holds optic contact with Minerva, seeing all the emotions of the past cycles in the mother's optics; all melding into a strength beyond anything she's ever witnessed. She turns her optics to Prowl, who bears a similar gaze. This kid means a lot to the both of them. Offlining her optical sensors for a moment, Roulette clears her processor of the ghosts that have been creeping up on her ever since Prowl had mentioned the Emirate. Whatever is to happen, will happen.

Roulette onlines her optics, "Alright, Prowl, Minerva. Let's pay the Emirate a visit."

* * *

"…Barricade?"

Silence.

"Psssst… Barricade… wake up… What happened last recharge cycle?"

Barricade reluctantly onlines his buzzing optics, feeling a processor-ache surging through his neural circuitry. Groaning loudly, the Gladiator looks up and sees his comrade, Brawl, leaning over him with a curious look in his single optic. Strange, Barricade almost feels like he's partially upside-down, or maybe it's the other way around? What a bizarre sensation; part of getting overcharged the previous recharge cycle.

Barricade then realizes that he's in one of the small storage units of the bunk room he shares with Brawl and two other mechs, his pedes hanging out of the opening. Yup, things are back to their normal flow. During the next klik, Brawl is put to the test as he tries with all his might not to keel over in laughter as he watches the smaller mech struggle to right himself and climb out of the storage unit. Eventually, the shorter mech loses his patience and makes a wild growling sound as he nearly shreds the metal container apart as he finally frees himself of his uncomfortable position.

"What… what were you saying?" Barricade has to squint his optics in order to focus on Brawl's faceplates. Seeing that Brawl looks as scrappy as he probably does, he decides to just let his optical sensors blur.

"I was askin', what happened last recharge cycle? I get the feeling like… like we did something…" Brawl looks around on the floor, as if he left something there that would remind him of their late-cycle, overcharged shenanigans.

"No slag we did something, you glitch-head. We drank so much high-grade that we don't remember anything else. The end. Now come on, I'm gonna go refuel." Barricade waves his servo in gesture for his partner in crime to follow him as he goes to the open door of their room, "Brawl, you left the door open? No fraggin' wonder I'm always missing credits. Fraggin' slag-for-hard drive." Barricade clears his vocalizer and spits a wad of thick oil on the floor of the hallway outside, scratching his aftplate while he's at it.

"No, I did not! I always shut the door." Brawl follows the other out of the room. "But serious, I get the feeling that… I dunno, did we steal something? I remember bringing something back with us…"

"Well, I probably brought back a few femmes, if that helps." Barricade chuckles at his own dry humor. What a shame it would be if he had forgotten a time like that. He stops in his tracks, however, when his com-link pings. "Lord Megatron."

"Barricade, I want you and Brawl to report to me at once. I've a job for you pertaining to the Emirate. It would appear that he refuses to acknowledge our hints, so it's time we drop the politics and do things our way."

A pleased sneer grows across Barricade's faceplates. Now the fun begins.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Late-night stealth ninja posting! It actually seems like this story gets more hits throughout the night, so… here ya go. :D Classes are starting to pile on the homework, but I won't keep you guys waiting, I'm sure I'll be able to keep up the same pace of posting. ^_^ This one's a bit short, but it's all building up to some big action for the next few chapters :D

To SEZwho94: I'm very curious to know who you thought caught Mirage, but you'll find out for sure real soon :D haha, Brawl and Barricade have no idea what they've done (I say this in an ominous tone… XD) Thank you for your comment! ^_^

To Vivienne Grainger: Your answers will come soon, either way there's gonna be fireworks X) Thank you for your comment! ^_^

Thank you to all my other reviewers, and to all readers: Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

"That's quite a talent you have, child, but there's no reason to hide from me."

Mirage anxiously shifts in his seated position upon the armrest of a massive throne-like chair, a large, black servo resting on his back; the thumb and index digits keeping a hold of the back of his neck. He ignores the request and remains invisible. Of all the mechs Mirage could have run in to, it had to be the one who is surely the boss of this place.

The dark mech holding the child in his place chuckles at the received silence, "How curious that there is a sparkling so shy that he can turn completely invisible to hide away from the rest of the world. There's no reason to hide, little one. You've nothing to fear in this place."

Feeling an 'encouraging' squeeze on the back of his neck, Mirage hesitantly deactivates his cloaker, exposing his trembling chassis to the one seated in the throne. He keeps his optics locked onto his pedes, afraid to look into the other's red ones. Unconsciously, Mirage holds his tiny servos over his chest compartment; unknowingly shielding his spark chamber, a Cybertronian's most vulnerable spot.

Megatron observes the sparkling, taking note of his dripping paint job, "You're not of Kaon." He shifts his servo to grasp the child's chin, turning his little processor to face him, "You've the features of a wealthy kind. Your framework tells me you come from a line of Cybertronians built for speed and agility. How could you have possibly found your way into this place?" He speaks rhetorically, not expecting the shy child to respond either way.

Mirage fights his shaking chassis to remain as still as possible; even though he's already the center of this mech's attention. He feels his plating freeze, however, when his tanks release a long, embarrassing groan in a demand for refueling. Fearing for the worse, Mirage braces himself for whatever punishment he is about to receive—

The sparkling is surprised, however, when the daunting mech begins chuckling lightly, "Ah, forgive me, I've misplaced my manners. You must be in need of refueling after whatever it is you've been through." He presses a button on a panel that is built into the other armrest, "Soundwave, bring a cube of energon to me, we've ourselves a hungry guest."

"As you command, Lord Megatron." The monotonous voice doesn't even skip a beat out of curiosity for who this 'guest' may be.

After a brief pause, a tall, blue and white mech with a yellow visor and face guard shielding his features enters the spacious room that acts as Megatron's command room in the Kolkular fortress located in Kaon. He is accompanied by two smaller bots; one a red bipedal, the other a strange, black four-legged creature. The tall mech approaches Mirage and his 'host', handing the cube to his lord.

"Thank you, Soundwave. Tell me, what is Brawl and Barricade's status?" The dark lord kindly smiles at the sparkling as he offers him the cube before returning his attention to his lieutenant.

"Operation team is on sight, confrontation has begun. Target to be obtained and delivered within the joor."

"Excellent."

"And just **why**, _Lord Megatron_, have you ordered Brawl and Barricade to retrieve the child?" A red and white Seeker bursts in through the double doors, marching down the hall until arriving right at the pedes of the Gladiator Champion. "I **told **you, I spoke with the Emirate during the recharge cycle. He received his warning, and now you are going straight for the kill? Was my time _wasted_ for naught? And what is so important here in Kaon that you would upright **leave **your place in Iacon without any warning?" The flyer fumes, it seems he has been wronged somehow.

"Ah, Starscream. I hadn't requested that you speak to the Emirate. That was your own choosing. Second, my place is wherever I see **fit** to be. I am Megatron, I do not need to explain to you all that I do." Seeing that the sparkling sitting on his armrest has finished his cube of energon quite quickly, Megatron ignores the irate flyer and pats the little one on the back, earning a hiccup.

Starscream glares daggers at his lord, wishing for his processor to explode into flames. After a moment, he turns his optics to the child, "…What's with the kid?"

"I found him wandering the halls. Curious, isn't it? He doesn't appear to be from these parts."

Sneering distastefully at the sparkling's streaking paint job, the Seeker scoffs, "I would say not." Remembering why he's angry, Starscream returns to his ranting, "Megatron, you're keeping something from me. I don't appreciate being left in the dark at such a critical time. What is it? Is it about the Emirate's child? What's so important here in Kaon that you would come to oversee it yourself?"

Megatron absently massages the sides of the sparkling's neck with his large digits as he rests his cheek against a balled servo, looking utterly casual. This air of nonchalance incites further anger in his Second in Command. "Starscream, I find that we've been having the same conversation over and over. It is growing old. My reasons for what I do are none of your concern, and as I told you already: you will be told what I see fit when I see it fit to be told. Now, let's move on. I want you and your trine to return to Iacon. There, you are to oversee the dealings with the factory as well as the stadium's progress. I want shipments of the Rheanimum-enriched Cybertronium to be out of the factory within the decacycle."

Loosing his final pinch of patience, the Air Commander lashes out, "You **are **hiding something from me! And now you think you can just sweep me to the side to keep me out of the know! I'm not one of your mindless drones, Megatron! I won't take this! And neither I nor my Seekers are leaving to Iacon!" The flyer stamps his pede in anger to solidify his point while his wings flare highly.

What happens next is too fast for Mirage to fully witness as within a moment Megatron is out of his seat and holding the Seeker off his pedes by the throat. Starscream fights for intakes as his pedes uselessly dangle in search of solid ground. Megatron speaks in a dangerous, low tone, "You test my patience, Starscream. You and the rest of **my **Seekers are instruments of my will, and I will not be denied. You are to go to Iacon—"

"**I won't!**" Starscream bares his teeth in ferocity and defiance.

Megatron is still for a moment. "Soundwave. Take the child and leave us."

Silently obeying his lord's command, Soundwave approaches Mirage and gathers him up in his arms before taking his leave along with his Casseticons. Mirage peeks over the broad shoulder of the mech carrying him to watch the dark lord and the flyer before the doors shut, blocking his view.

Soundwave walks down a long hall, not entirely sure of where to take the sparkling. Mirage settles into the mech's arms, feeling a strange sense of comfort in this one's custody. The mech comes to a crossroads of intersecting hallways, looking down each one in a contemplative manner. Sensing the enigmatic bot's uncertainty, Mirage offers a solution, "I'm hungry."

Soundwave looks down at the sparkling, who returns his gaze with large, gleaming optics. Releasing a short vent of air, Soundwave turns and heads for the recreation room where the energon storage is kept.

* * *

The tires of Minerva's alt-form screech as she takes a tight turn with the grace of a Seeker barreling in the air. Pushing her speedometer to its max once she's out of the turn, she continues her way through the grime-coated streets of Kaon. Two vehicles tail behind, each with a sense of authority bestowed upon their vehicle forms; the authority of an Enforcer.

"You sure you've never been to Kaon, Minerva? Seems like you know where you're going." Roulette chimes in over a com-link.

"I know… Strange, isn't it?" Minerva speaks very lightly, her voice seeming distant; quite a contrast to the violent speeds by which she's taking the streets.

She's been holding up quite well considering what she's been going through. She has to, for the sake of her child. Soon, though, Minerva feels that she may very well explode, and what a pleasure it would be if it happens to be upon the faces of the Emirate and his sparkmate.

With aspirations to be a medic, Minerva has generally been a non-violent femme for most of her life, even with her late-cycle job at the pub. She's learned to get by with words and tough appearances rather than relying on action. This whole experience, however, has brought to light a dark side of her that she's never seen in such dominance before.

She knows it has always been there, from the moment her child came into this world, she felt it blossom in the depths of her spark: the fierce fire that has given her the strength to learn to stand up for both herself and her child. The power to protect her child no matter the barriers or cost.

Has she really protected him, though?

He's such a beautiful spark, so pure and full of love and curiosity. Truly, he is his father's son. Minerva must admit, however, he's probably seen more than most ever will in a lifetime. Has she failed him? Should she have held him back from his independence— that which he so desperately craved and gained through tough lessons?

Minerva feels a fresh sting run over her sore spark. They argued the last time they were together. Was it her right to dictate Nightbeat's business when she wasn't even around enough to know his reasons? To talk to him? To find out who he's been growing up to be during the time ever since… ever since what happened?

The way he ran away… was it the final straw? Was it the final link being broken? Doesn't he need her anymore?


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Alright, ya'll, here's a long one. :D

To Vivienne Grainger: Mmmm soup XD I never would have thought my story could somehow be related to it :D Hope you enjoy it—both the story and your soup X) Thank you for your comments!

To SEZwho94: Lol, I had a feeling you knew XD I had actually changed the mech's description right before I posted it as I had originally planned for it to be another bot. hahaha, and your analysis of Megatron and Mirage made me giggle XD And come on, who isn't a sucker for Soundwave's 'paternal' side? Minerva's been quietly bubbling off to the side so far, but she's about to take the spotlight :D

Thank you to all my reviewers!

Please Enjoy and Review! (anonymous comments welcomed too!)

* * *

**Twenty breems earlier.**

"Back off, slaghead! Don't touch me! Would you give me some space? Why the frag don't these rich bots have stairs?" Barricade jabs his comrade in the side with his pointed elbow.

"Ease up, Barricade, I can hardly fit in this thing as it is… " Brawl speaks with a slightly hurt tone, rubbing his side even though the strike didn't penetrate his armor; it's the thought that counts.

The private elevator leading up to the Emirate's living quarters groans as it climbs to the upper level of the tower bearing a heavy overload. An uppity jazz tune lightly plays through the unseen speakers, creating an aura of fine living.

To Barricade's utter dismay, Brawl begins lightly bobbing his processor with the addictive beat, "Say, this fancy-bot music ain't so bad. 'S kinda catchy." The lumbering mech then attempts to hum along with the song he's never heard before, failing completely.

Barricade grinds his teeth to the near point of breaking them, "Brawl, I've still got that processorache that I onlined with, and I am not afraid to kill you to shut you up." Although his line of logic may not be the most refined in his pained state, his message gets across clearly.

Brawl sighs, **loudly**, as he grows tired of his comrade's grouchy mood. Maybe some whistling will cheer him up?

Outside the living quarters of the Emirate of Kaon, a sparkling paces about comprehensively in the open-aired courtyard. He pulls a toy ray gun out of one of his subspace compartments and aims it at the sky, perhaps in retaliation for his current lockdown dilemma. The child's pedes haven't touched the streets outside his creator's tower-like home ever since he had gotten caught sneaking out. Thanks to that Seeker, Starscream.

Although both his femme and mech caretakers have questioned him about what happened during his little escapade, the sparkling has refused to say much, believing that it would only cause them sparkache to consider the danger he was in. They love him very much, and he… loves them too. He may not be the closest with the _femme_, but, well, one can't simply not love their mother. Perhaps it is just a phase he's going through, one in which he simply doesn't get along with her.

The sparkling observes the brilliant effect that occurs as the light from above penetrates the red light bulb of the toy gun. It looks rather used, with many scratches across the red glass. Something strange, however, catches the sparkling's optic. Bringing the ray gun closer, it would appear that the scratches are not scratches at all, and they appear to be on the inside of the bulb, not on the outer surface. Intricate patterns weave across the bulb; perhaps when the toy used to work it created some kind of dazzling light show.

How curious.

Suddenly, the elevator door to the courtyard rings in announcement of an arrival. Excitedly, the sparkling runs to stand before the door, expecting his father to be on the other side. He's home early, perhaps they're going to take that trip to the museum he had promised.

That's when he notices the long gnashes on the sides of the door, almost as though they were forced open…

"Well, looks like we won't need to do much searching." An aggressive-looking mech steps out of the elevator coolly, his pedes silent as he moves. His features and tone are unreadable, his optics as soulless as death itself.

A huge, frightening mech that looks like he could eat the sparkling in one bite steps out behind the shorter one, his pedes sending reverberations through the solid ground with every step, "Whaddaya—oh. Oh…. _**OH!**_" The large mech points wildly at the child, his vocalizer releasing only static as surprise takes control of him.

"The frag is your prob— oh… oh _FRAG!_" Barricade sees what it is Brawl sees in the child, and before he can react, Brawl bolts out of the elevator, aiming towards the sparkling and trampling his smaller comrade in the process.

"_You! _I thought I already killed you!" Brawl roars so loudly that the dirt caked onto his chassis comes off in chunks and clouds as he rushes the child.

The sparkling doesn't even waste time to scream as he turns and bolts for the closest barrier to put between himself and the irate mech; the fountain. The moment he crouches behind it, however, the tank-former simply bashes it out of his way with one mighty swipe, sending large chunks of debris across the courtyard. The sparkling is caught by a piece and is also sent for a short flight, landing near the front door to the living quarters.

"Brawl! Stop, you dumbfrag! We need him alive!" Barricade coughs as he pulls his battered chassis off the ground. Deciding to transform into his alt-form instead, the speedy Gladiator shoots across the distance between himself and the sparkling, transforming back into bi-pedal form and sliding on his knees with his momentum. He scoops the limp sparkling up before his comrade is able to reach him and stands to his full height to jump out of the charging dope's way.

Brawl, unable to put the brakes on his dash, glares at Barricade and is about to say something when he slams processor-first into the front door. Gathering himself up quickly, he once more jabs a digit towards the sparkling, "It's him! It's Nightbeat! I threw him into the harbor myself!"

"Exactly, you slag-face! This _isn't_ Nightbump!"

"Night_beat_!"

"Whatever! This kid—" Barricade looks at the KO'd sparkling he's holding and a brief flicker of horror passes his faceplates, "—He's, it's just a look-alike coincidence!" Barricade wonders if he himself even believes what he's saying.

"I don't think so, Barricade, things happen for a reas-"

"Shut up! Now, go see if mommy's home."

Brawl stares at the sparkling for a moment, his servos clenching, before releasing a frustrated sigh. He turns away from his comrade to go for the front door—only to be met by a charging blaster barrel. "The fr—"

Silhouette discharges a full clip of her arm-mounted ion blaster into the large intruder's faceplates, sending him tumbling into the opposite wall of the courtyard. Barricade takes a leap backwards away from the door, landing atop a decorative column standing on the ledge overlooking the streets below.

"FRAG!" Barricade is about to activate his energon blade when he feels the sparkling shifting in his arm, and upon looking down he receives the 'shooting' end of a toy ray gun in his optic. It _is_ him! A shocked grunt escapes Barricade as he holds a servo to his injured optic and drops the sparkling.

Before the second intruder is able to recapture her son, Silhouette dashes forward and catches the falling sparkling. She tightly holds him to her frame as she rushes back into the temporary haven of their home, slamming the emergency blast door shut behind her. She falls to her knees the moment the door shuts, assessing her child's damage as he trembles in her hold, "Darling, sweetie—are you okay?" She forces her voice to remain calm.

The young Cybertronian's intakes are sharp and shallow, clearly demonstrating how shaken he is, but he manages to nod his head. Silhouette cups his chassis in her arm and pulls him close to her in a protective embrace and raises her servo to her com-link, opening a line, "Xeon—"

An explosive shell suddenly penetrates the blast door in one take, filling the room instantaneously with smoke and debris. Both mother and child scream in surprise. Silhouette reacts quickly and rushes her son over to an air vent located against a far wall of the living room. Tearing off the cover, she pushes him inside, "Go, Wilder! Don't stop!"

The sparkling hesitates, his chassis feeling a sudden chill as he leaves the warm arms of his caretaker and enters the vent. His lower lip component quivers, "M-mom…"

A single tear streaks down Silhouette's cheek as she leans forward and kisses her child, "I love you, darling. Be brave, now." She leans back onto her heels and replaces the cover over the air vent, brushing her servo's digit-tips across the tiny ones desperately protruding through. She then stands and runs into the library of her home.

Brawl sends another shell into the blast door, finally blowing it out of the frame completely. Transforming into his bi-pedal form, he steps into the eerily quiet quarters, the only sound emanating from the settling rubble. He releases a radar wave, and picks up two spark resonations. "He's headed down the air ducts! Barricade, he's-"

Before he can finish, Brawl is hit by a rocket-propelled armor-piercing round that sends him flying through the wall of the home and back into the courtyard. Silence once more takes hold of the air before Barricade coolly steps through the makeshift entrance courtesy of his comrade's chassis, unfazed. He feels that the foolish brute is too rash and rushes into things without a clue as to what is waiting for him.

Barricade stops upon entering the living quarters and looks to the femme who's holding an impressive, smoking weapon mounted on her shoulder. "Long time, Sill. See you've pulled together another family, eh?" The femme is unmoved, her sights locked onto him, "You know you're not gonna have time to hit me with that. I'll have your processor on the floor before you can even squeeze the trigger."

Silhouette holds for a moment before dropping the weapon. Just as Barricade begins approaching her with a growing grin, however, she raises her arm-mounted blaster and manages to fire off three rounds before an energon blade cuts through the air and severs her forearm off in a clean slice. She clenches her teeth and only allows a hissing sound to leave her vocalizer before she has to raise her other arm up to block a downward kick from the Gladiator.

Moving quickly, Barricade brings his leg back and moves into a round-house kick using the other pede, only to have it easily deflected by a single, sweeping servo. A sharp-toed pede quickly strikes across his face, the serrated edges of it drawing energon across his cheek. "Unf! Hah, you still sharpen your pedes? You haven't changed one bit, baby." His vicious smile widens further still as his own energon spills into the lines between his teeth.

Silhouette glares and grits her teeth in ferocity and disgust, earning a tongue waggle from the mech. She shoots her single servo forward in an attempt to stab it into the mech's neck circuitry, only to have it seized and painfully twisted to the point that cables begin to snap and rupture. Thinking quickly and not above dirty moves, Silhouette strikes her injured arm across Barricade's face, sending a stinging streak of energon into his optics.

"Ugh! You glitch!" Barricade's grip loosens just enough for Silhouette to pull her servo free, and she takes advantage of the situation.

* * *

I slide down the rope that I had used the other recharge cycle in the vertical air vent. I may never see her again. She might be killed. And she's done it for me. I understand that she's… my mother… but still, I'm vexed by the question: why? I've only been difficult with her; I've only brought her troubles.

My questioning is brought to a halt when suddenly I hear a loud explosion overhead. I stop my descent on the rope and hold my intakes to listen. I yelp and duck my processor as pieces of hot metal and rubble fall from above and watch as they disappear into the abyss below me. I hear a mad howl echo in the tunnel; I'm not alone in here. Looking up again, the little light that I had is suddenly blocked by a large, falling mass that is quickly approaching my position.

Without a second thought, I loosen my grip on the rope and begin sliding down so fast that the paint begins wearing off my servos. The large phantom above me, however, falls much quicker than me due to its greater weight and is literally right on top of me.

A gritty set of massive servos snatch me right out the air and I feel the frame of the large mass curl around me, turning itself into a cannonball-like shape. I turn my processor enough to see a large, ugly optic, its nasty yellow glow the only available light source. Suddenly finding myself in a freefall while in the grip of a clearly insane mech who means to kill me, I scream.

I can honestly say, although embarrassing, I scream like a femme at this point.

My scream of absolute terror, however, is cut off abruptly when the mech's pedes meet solid ground, the continuing momentum of the fall snapping my processor back in a nasty whiplash. My optics flare wildly as I fear that my neck may be broken, that I might be offlined.

The mech holding me is amazingly quick to recover, as if he had only skipped off a single step rather than the length of a tower. Straightening himself out, he holds me up with one servo, observing my limp frame as though I'm a trophy. Clearly, I must have some kind of history with this one prior to my 'bump on the processor'. If I could, I'd upchuck my tanks onto his sneering mug.

The mech touches the side of his processor, "Lord Megatron. I got 'im."

…Megatron?

* * *

**Now.**

Emirate Xeon feels his spark stop as he approaches the tower that acts as his family's home and sees a cloud of embers and smoke pluming from it. Transforming out of his street alt-form, he doesn't even try the elevator and instead activates the jet turbines on his pedes. Shooting up the side of the tower and landing in the courtyard, the Emirate feels his chassis tighten and a sudden feral state of mind overtakes him.

His family is in danger. He's going to frag someone up.

"SILHOUETTE! WILDER!" He runs into his home, the front door and wall completely demolished. He intakes heavily through gritted teeth, causing a loud hissing sound. He runs through every room of the living quarters before returning to the destroyed entrance room. "Primus…!" He turns his processor in every direction, gripping it like a bot gone mad.

He had been in the Judicial District of Kaon when he had gotten the single-worded message from his sparkmate, followed by an explosion and the sound of his family screaming. They were _screaming_.

Megatron… It was Megatron!

But if it was Megatron… his family may already be dead. It's his fault. He's indirectly killed his own family. No, it can't be! His child. His precious, precious child.

"Xeon?"

The Emirate spins on his heel at the sound of a femme's voice, "Sill-"

He stops.

"Roulette?" His chassis freezes in place.

Roulette steps through the front door, her optics wide as she takes in the destruction of the home, "Primus, Xeon… What's happened?" A young mech and another femme slowly follow behind her. The young mech grasps the servo of the red and white femme with his own, as if to hold her back.

That femme. The one from Iacon –it's Nightbeat's real mother! The Emirate's red optics flare in what appears to be something snapping in his processor, "Did you do this?"

Roulette is taken aback, "What? Xeon, where is the sparkling? What have you done with him?"

"What have **I** done?" The Emirate's optics suddenly look very distant, his voice sounds as though he's short-breathed. "What haven't I done? What haven't I brought to ashes? All I ever cared about… it's all gone now! I deserve it, I deserve damnation! But them? No, no they didn't. Primus. I love him so much. He was so precious… I deserve it, not him!" He holds his processor and his chassis begins bending over as if he is withering. A dry sob escapes his vocalizer.

The three bots witnessing this are speechless. Minerva pulls her servo free of Prowl's and steps forward to the mourning mech. She gently pulls his processor up until they're optic-to-optic, "Where is my son?"

The Emirate looks into the femme's optics, a pain as strong as his own residing in them, "They've taken him to Megatron. They're in the fortress, Kolkular." The femme releases him but keeps her place standing before him. The Emirate wouldn't be surprised if she shot him where he stood. For what it's worth, "Forgive me—"

Suddenly, a brilliant lightshow of bright purple vapors emerges out of thin air directly behind the Emirate. A set of black and purple arms materialize out of the luminous cloud, seizing the Kaonian politician around his chassis and pulling him in. As fast as it appeared, the cloud –along with the Emirate –disappears.

Prowl is instantly standing in front of Minerva with his gun drawn, expecting an attacker. Roulette also has her weapon drawn, but after a moment, she holsters it and sighs, bringing the attention of the other two bots to herself.

"What just happened?" Prowl struggles with his logic center, feeling it begin to teeter towards a burnout as he contemplates the impossible physics of what just occurred.

"That was Skywarp, a teleporter. One of Megatron's henchmen. I'm sure you both know from Minerva's late sparkmate's reports that Megatron is the head of the rising 'Decepticon' faction." Roulette steps further into the living quarters, quickly assessing what may have gone down here.

"Roulette, the Emirate knew you. What is your relation—"

"That's not important now, Prowl. What we need now…" She turns and looks to Prowl and Minerva, "Is to plan what we're going to do next."

Minerva looks between Prowl and Roulette, who seriously look like they've come to a standstill in the matter, "Kolkular."

Prowl turns to her, "Minerva, surely you realize the odds we would face if we were to just waltz up to that place. If Megatron himself is there, and who knows how much of his following is there, it wouldn't look to good for us."

Minerva turns her processor to Roulette, who responds, "Prowl's right, Minerva. We can't just run into this. Us three against Megatron alone would look pretty dim."

"And what would you say to four?" The three bots turn to see who the newcomer is at the front door. Roulette is the first to bring herself to respond.

Her optics dim in distrust as she speaks, "Well well. Of all the pit-spawned glitches to show up now."


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: another long one for you guys ^_^

To Vivienne Grainger et SEZwho94: Glad you both enjoyed the cliffhanger XD Thank you for all your wonderful comments! ^_^

Thank you to my reviewers! To all, Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

The grounds of the Enforcer Academy swarm with activity while bots of all kinds make their way into the Department branch. Inside, the spacious halls are filled with reporters, potential witnesses that think there may be an award for information, and Academy students trying to reach their classrooms.

"Hey, hey! Watch the wings, huh? Look at all these jerks. Stupid civies. They probably don't know nothin' about what's even goin' on, probably just lookin' to score some easy credits for a bolt-slag story. So, what _is_ goin' on?" Air Raid holds his arms far out in front of himself to create enough space through the crowded halls to assure safe passage for his wings.

Silverbolt sighs and almost points out the irony of his friend's words, "Apparently there's a sparkling missing from the High Tower Pavilions. That's all I know for sure though, it was just reported at the start of the solar cycle."

"Huh. Some rich kid, eh? Probably just ran away when he couldn't get a shinier set of rims." Air Raid rolls his optics.

"Not all kids have the same line of logic as you, Air Raid, they're not all gonna just _run away_ when they don't get what they want." Silverbolt regrets his honest statement the moment it leaves his vocalizer. He's going to be hearing about this one for the whole deca-cycle.

"Hey—Frag you! You don't know _scrap_ about why **I** ran away! So just go suck on a—"

"Hey, it's Red Alert—Red! Over here!" Silverbolt waves his servo over the crowd, hopping on his pedes a little.

Air Raid, angry to be interrupted but quick to stir up a new round of insults, inquires, "Look at you, what, are you his fan-femme or somethin?"

Used to the strikes and doubly unaffected by them, Silverbolt responds, "He may be able to tell us more about what's going on."

Red Alert, after the initial panic of hearing his name shouted, catches sight of his upper classmen and smiles in greeting. Utilizing his small frame to weave through the crowd, he reaches the two flyers with ease. "S-Silverbolt! G-g-g-g-g-good-"

"Yeah, just forget about _me_, Red. Real nice." Air Raid mock pouts and folds his arms.

Red Alert, never good with reading into sarcasm and joking, truly believes he's offended the other bot, "Oh! A-Air Raid! I, I'm sorry! I d-d-d-didn't m-mean—"

"It's alright, Red, Air Raid was only joking." Silverbolt casts a look to his winged comrade and receives a shrug and glare. Silverbolt also takes note of the extent of Red Alert's stutter and assumes the underclassman must be very stressed—in other words, something big is going down. "Red, I was wondering if you could let us in on any developments in this case. It's causing quite the scene here."

Red Alert's optics dart around the crowd, "Oh, ah, well, y-you see, th-there's really t-t-too much of a crowd here, I c-can't let anything l-l-leak."

Some of the bots in the hall standing near the trio of classmen must have thought they overheard something about Red Alert having all the answers, as they quickly begin forming a circle of attention—all aimed at the nervous mech.

"What's going on? Did they find him?"

"How much longer do I have to wait! I have valuable information!"

"Who's in charge here?"

"Are there going to be refreshments provided?"

"I know about the sparkling! I used to, ah, wash the windows of the family's living quarters! I saw some shady business goin' down!"

The bustling crowd of con-artists and dementia bots squeeze closer and closer around Red Alert, causing him to start hyperventilating. Air Raid rolls his optics and releases a heavy vent of air, "Ai ya yai, Red, you're so popular." Without hesitation, the flyer plucks the cornered underclassman out of the crowd and activates the turbines in his pedes, slowly rising above the crowd.

"Air Raid! Not in a crowd—you—! UGH!" Silverbolt follows suit and rises above the crowd that appears to be slowly gaining a mob mentality. "Follow me!" Leading the way, Silverbolt goes out one of the tall windows of the structure and the flyers make their way to a rooftop before gently touching down.

"Hey, uh, SilverDolt?"

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever, I think Red's gonna hurl." As if the term 'hurl' was an 'Open Sesame', Red Alert does just that.

Silverbolt's features scrunch at the sight, "You, ah, you alright, Red? Sorry about that, but we thought you'd prefer to get out of that crowd…"

"I, I'm fine, th-thanks." The mech takes a moment to gather himself before straightening his posture, "So, I suppose now I c-can tell you some upd-d-d-dates we've g-got." The three mechs find some air system units to sit on. "W-well, Sentinel Major has asked th-that I go through the vid f-feeds of the Tower on the cycle of the dissapp-p-pearance. Something of interest to note is that it was the same cycle that… well, that Prowl had gone to the Tower in search of his young friend."

Silverbolt listens closely and smiles to himself, proud of how Red Alert's speech impediment seems to dissolve when he gets into describing a case he's working on.

Air Raid puts in his thoughts, "What, Prowl? You don't think there's a _connection_, do ya? I mean, I personally ain't too fond of the prick, but he's not gonna-"

"No evidence besides his presence would lead to that. I've also done the honors of gathering up all of Prowl's research on the case he was personally seeing to, the one about the reportedly missing sparkling from Sector D-12, the sector he patrols routinely. Some eye-witness reports lead Prowl, as well as the sparkling's mother and two unidentified bots, to the High Tower Pavilions—particularly to the temporary quarters of the…" Red Alert is suddenly unsure if he ought to share anymore, if perhaps this may be a dangerous breach in security. And 'Security' is his middle designation.

Silverbolt calmly asks, "Who's quarters, Red? You can tell us, we won't spread anything around." He then catches himself and looks over to Air Raid to verify his statement, "Right, Air Raid?"

Air Raid scoffs and gets more comfortable in his position, "Yeah, yeah. This ain't somethin' to be spreading around here. Place is crazy enough as it is, all we need is the _real_ eye-witnesses gettin' their processors confused by hearin' rumors left an right."

Silverbolt beams with pride for his friend's reasonable response, then looks to Red Alert to continue.

Red Alert seems assured, so finishes, "Well, they were lead to the quarters of the Emirate of Kaon, who had been visiting Iacon for some kind of political matter. He brought his sparkmate with him. However, I've noticed something very curious, and I was just now on my way to report it to Sentinel Major: although the Emirate's records indicate that he indeed does have a son, there are no reports of that son having been brought along to Iacon. As I was going through the vid feeds, it was odd how all of a sudden a sparkling began showing up in the courtyard of the quarters. And, another interesting note…"

The two flyers lean in.

"The sparkling's color scheme seems to change from one cycle to the next. First, he appears to be yellow and blue, and then he's red and white. It's most peculiar for a sparkling to undergo such a drastic appearance change. I… I believe that the sparkling _is _the one Prowl was looking for. I'm not exactly sure how the Emirate managed to bring the sparkling into the quarters without it being caught on a vid feed—although the private elevator up to the quarters from the street level is just that—private."

"Slag…" Air Raid is unable to say anymore.

"Is there anything else? Anything about the other missing sparkling?" Silverbolt inquires.

"Ah, yes, his name is Mirage. And there is indeed something of the utmost interest that I found in the feeds of the courtyard in front of the living quarters of the Emirate. Apparently, Prowl's sparkling—er, well, you know, the one he was looking for—befriended Mirage. They played a few times in the courtyard, but Prowl's sparkling never left the courtyard to go play elsewhere. It was almost like he was being held captive."

Silverbolt comes to a conclusion, "So, if the Emirate and his sparkmate nabbed one sparkling, then what would hold them back from taking another? But… is there any feed showing Mirage ever actually going into their quarters?"

Red Alert thinks for a moment, "Well, something that I noticed while following him through the feeds is that he must be equipped with some kind of cloaking device; the child would simply vanish off the screen entirely in a single moment then pop up on another screen the next. A dangerous piece of equipment for a sparkling to have to manage, but that's the fact. So… who can really say. The evidence, however, is more than enough to hunt down the Emirate; he'll certainly be charged with the taking of the Sector D-12 sparkling if not for the High Towers one as well."

The two flyers lean back in their seated positions, taking in the mass of data. A look of worry then passes Silverbolt's faceplates, "Red… You know, I heard that Sentinel Major wasn't even hearing a word about Prowl's case."

"Why the frag not? What, does Major Aftplate think Prowl's slagging with him or something?" Air Raid scoffs angrily.

Silverbolt continues, "Who knows. Adults are hard to understand these cycles. But Red, you could clear Prowl's name with this stuff. You could _prove_ him right. But don't let Major scare you out of the truth, alright? I'm not sure what his malfunction is, but I heard he was giving Prowl a real hard time about it…"

A zing of fear and confidence rips through Red Alert's spark. He could clear Prowl's name? Prowl? The coolest, bravest, most level-processored bot he's ever known? Ever since he had joined the Academy, Red Alert has admired the Praxian from afar. Hoping to grow into a mech like him, Red Alert has made it his mission to pull his grades up to the level of excellence that Prowl has accomplished, and to overcome his stutter so that he too may speak with a cool voice that demands respect.

But he can't be intimidated by Sentinel Major. Prowl clearly wasn't, so neither should Red Alert.

Seeing some kind of change in the small mech beside them, the two flyers exchange glances before Silverbolt recommends, "Well, you've got a lot ahead of you, Red. We'll take you straight to Sentinel Major's office so you don't have to deal with the crowds." Standing, the three bots prepare for launch.

* * *

Sentinel Major takes wide, aggressive strides through the blocked off halls of the Enforcer Department and arrives at the interrogation center. Looking into one of the questioning rooms through the thick-glassed windows outside, he doesn't turn to acknowledge the Enforcer who approaches him with an update. "Tell me what they know."

Blaster nods his processor towards the large, red mech seated inside the questioning room, "Head of the Tower's security right here, designation: Ironhide—"

"Just tell me what he knows."

Blaster pauses for a moment to raise his brow ridge at the commanding mech before continuing, "Says he saw the kid in the halls the cycle he went missing. He was on his way to Emirate Xeon's quarters to answer a distress call… which I'm sure you're familiar with. He says the kid was always looking for attention, but doesn't think he'd run away. The bot's feeling pretty guilty about the kid's disappearance; he feels that it may be his fault somehow."

"Again, Blaster, I don't care about the personal details. Who are the three sparklings with him?"

Blaster's jaw tightens a fraction as he holds down his growing anger with the sparkless Enforcer Chief. The bot's lost his soul for the work he does; it's not about the people or justice anymore, it's all about status. Blaster forces himself to move on, "The kids—Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Cliffjumper—belong to two of the maintenance bots that upkeep the halls of the Tower. They say that they had been 'playing' with Mirage on the cycle he disappeared. They said that he was in some kind of rush and had been saying something about 'helping his friend'. Personally, I think these three were bullying—"

"That's all that these four have? Alright then, release them and gather their contact information. Anything that might actually be _useful _in this case come up yet?" Sentinel Major finally turns his optics to the Communications Officer at his side.

"…Naw. That's it. They're the only two legit witnesses we've been able to pick outta that crowd outside. But, sir…" Blaster hesitates for a moment, "A second sparkling gone missing-first the one from Sector Capri that Prowl claimed he had tracked down to the Kaonian Emirate in the High Tower Pavilions, then a High Tower kid? All of this goin' down on the same cycle? What if we're looking at a serial sparklingnapper here? Why haven't you considered connecting—"

"Blaster, your job is not Investigator, your job is Communications. Why don't you handle your work and I'll handle mine. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a meeting with Red Alert." With that, the Enforcer Chief turns his back on the other mech and leaves for his office.

"Yeah. Yeah, you get to that."

* * *

A loud crack echoes off the walls of the courtyard as Minerva's balled servo meets the faceplates of the newcomer bot. A second and third strike follows, each one sending the other bot a few steps backwards until finally toppling over. Minerva straddles the bot and wails a hailstorm of heavy punches into the chassis beneath her.

"Minerva! Holy slag! Minerva, wait!" Roulette rushes forward and pulls Minerva onto her pedes, but the fighting mother pulls the other bot up with her and continues her attack, shoving Roulette away with a backhand in the process. "Ugh! Frag, she's got a nasty left! Prowl! What are you doing standing there? Help me!" Roulette again tries separating the attacker from her victim but again fails and receives another backhand across her jaw.

Roulette holds her jaw and turns her frantic optics back to the Enforcer student, "Prowl, are you daft? Why aren't you helping me? We have to get Minerva under control! She's gonna kill—" That's when Roulette catches the look in Prowl's optics.

Prowl stands unmoving a few paces away from the scene, and looks on with no intention of separating the fray. His features are cold and solemn. He's going to let this happen.

Roulette can't believe this is happening, but gathers herself again to have another go at the violent tussle. She forces her chassis between Minerva and the victimized bot, pushing the victim away and wrapping her arms around the mother femme before tackling her down onto the ground. Minerva struggles still, a crazy white light overcoming the blue in her optics as she thrashes in the hold of the Enforcer.

"GET OFF! I'M GONNA KILL THAT FRAGGING SCRAP HEAP!" Minerva tries hitting the Enforcer in the face with her processor but is roughly subdued to lie flat on the ground.

Just as quickly as it came, however, Minerva loses her super strength and goes limp in defeat beneath Roulette. Roulette holds the brawling mother down for a moment longer before slowly releasing her and sitting up.

Prowl is suddenly quick to react as he approaches and helps Minerva to her pedes. Roulette stays in her knelt position to catch her intakes and turns her processor to the bot who's sitting against a wall.

"Where's the kid, Silhouette?"

The battered femme –still missing a forearm and having sustained damage from her previous battle—sneers at the Enforcer, "I was going to ask you the same, scum." Her features scrunch together as she tries standing but then decides against it. Looking to the femme that had attacked her, a light of realization suddenly passes through her optics, "You—you! You're the femme that tried taking my son in Iacon! You did this! I knew you'd come after us! You're Megatron's bots, aren't you? So what is this, Roulette?" The femme turns her anger towards the Enforcer, "You've finally thrown in with Megatron? He's managed to grease up your servos to escort his assassins around? Is that what this is? Come to finish me off? Where's Xeon? Where's Wilder!"

"FRAG YOU! HE'S MINE! I'LL KILL YOU!" Minerva tries bolting forward to jump the other femme once more but is held back by Prowl. "NO! LET GO! SHE STOLE MY BABY!"

Roulette rubs her temples in growing aggravation, "Fraggit, this isn't going to work. That's it. We're taking this elsewhere. This place is gonna be swarming soon, and we need more time." Roulette stands and gently pulls Silhouette over her shoulder and begins carrying her towards the barely functional elevator that they had used to get up the tower. "I oughta just leave you here, Sill, but you might be able to help us. Come on, Prowl. You're gonna have to trust me on this one. I've… got a lot of things to explain to you."

Prowl's optics are pure ice as he watches the femme, "Yes. You certainly do."

Minerva still struggles to break away from Prowl, though her movements are now slow and weak. Finally, a sob breaks from her, and she leans into Prowl, who holds onto her, "Prowl, please, we have to go now… We can't wait… we have to go to Kolkular now… Please…"

Prowl stands steady as he embraces the femme tightly, wishing he could impart his strength to her. "We'll be going soon, Minerva, I promise." His optics, however, stay locked onto Roulette.

Can she be trusted?


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: This is a short one, another instance where I feel this section of the story ought to be a stand-alone chapter. Late Night Posting Ninja strikes again! _ I'm gonna be busy this week, so hopefully the last few chapters I've posted this weekend will keep ya all readin for a lil while X)

Thank you to all my reviewers!

Please Enjoy and Review!

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Kolkular: the place where Enforcers too pure to be contaminated and bots too nosey or greedy for their own good go to and never return from. From the core of Cybertron, an intense heat and supply of molten metal churns and reaches the open surface of the Smelting Pool, the little tourist attraction of the fortress. Kaon's original purpose for this pool was to break down scrap metal or convicts for raw materials. The Smelting pool is still used much in the same way, only now the Judge and Jury are a select few known as the Decepticons; their victims are usually innocent, but meet their ends just the same.

The pulse of a coming revolution is strong throughout the walls of this structure, and every cycle the beat grows stronger as more and more loyal sparks resonate inside. An army is growing in Kolkular, but this is simply the beginning.

There are more places, just like Kolkular. Soon, they will all unite under a common goal—under a common badge; under a common leader. It is said by some that this is the birth place of the new ideals of the approaching age. Birth and death, however, are so very often set within the same pages of history.

Death is an ever-lingering presence in this place, and its stench is thick on this particular cycle. In the dark throne room of the one who welcomes death's company as a sign of life's existence, the Gladiator, Megatron, a strange tear in the atmosphere presents a plume of bright, dancing mists of purple light. A winged Cybertronian emerges from the surreal cloud, bringing with him a second mech.

"On your knees, cretin." Skywarp firmly grasps his passenger's shoulder.

The Emirate of Kaon is shoved to kneel on the cold floor, but he is quick and pulls the offending arm to throw the Seeker off-balance. The purple and black flyer yelps as one of his arm-mounted weapons are ripped from its holding place and shot off at his own wings.

Skywarp dodges a second assault of rounds and tries threatening, "You stupid slagger! You're gonna get your processor handed to ya on a platter, shootin in a place like this!" Skywarp is then struck in his leg and collapses onto the floor.

The Emirate rushes the Seeker and puts the barrel of the weapon to his processor, "Where is my son—talk or I swear to Primus I'll—!" He stops when a slow clapping begins. He takes a moment to actually gather where he is, and feels his tanks sink. Turning his optics upwards towards the sound of the clapping, he whispers, "Megatron…"

The dark Gladiator smiles sharply, seated comfortably on his throne. "Bravo, Emirate. I had no idea you could even point a weapon in the correct direction. Thundercracker, take your brother to see Hook in the Med Bay. Come closer, Emirate, we need to have a talk."

Thundercracker first approaches the Emirate and slides the weapon out of his stiff servos before attending to his brother. Gathering up the purple Seeker—along with his brother's broken pride—Thundercracker silently leaves the room. A sense of relief fills him; he did not want to see what's surely going to happen.

Emirate Xeon feels as though he's entered some kind of surreal world, as though he is floating separately from his chassis. This uneasy feeling causes the outer rim of his vision to blacken, and his sight is focused on the looming mech before him. Stepping forward, he jumps slightly when his shoulder is grasped from behind and a servo tightens its hold on him and pushes him down onto his knees. Looking back to see the owner of the servo, the Emirate is met with a smiling set of faceplates: Starscream.

Megatron continues, "Excellent. Now, then, onto business. Tell me, Emirate, why is it that you left Iacon? I do not recall giving you leave, and our agreement specifically stated that you stay there until my work is done. In case you are wondering, Emirate, my work is not yet finished. Yet you are here in Kaon. Explain this to me, Emirate." He speaks with a velvety, calm tone.

"I… left for the sake of my family's safety."

Starscream releases a loud outburst of laughter at this. Allowing himself to fully enjoy the amusement, the Air Commander lets his cackling live its course to the fullest before dying down to a quiet snicker. Finishing, he responds, "Oh, absolutely, dear Emirate. _Your family_. Such a wonderful job you've done so far, hm? Really, you've quite the talent of gathering the oddest pieces to suit your little asylum collection—oh, I mean 'family'." Starscream's demeanor takes on a darker tone, disgust clear in his voice, "And how very easily you replace a part when it's broken."

The Emirate does not respond. He can't. What is he to say to these accusations? Aren't they true? "Megatron… please, give me my family. I'll return to Iacon—"

Once more, Starscream takes the reins of the conversation, "But you **can't**, Emirate. It is simply not an option anymore. Have you not seen the reports? Iacon is in quite a buzz. Apparently there is a sparkling missing from the High Tower Pavilions—ever since the cycle you made your flashy escape after fleeing from a civil dispute involving the Tower's Security team. Any bot with a single processor chip could put two and two together at this point, Emirate. No, you won't be returning to Iacon. You've done us a great displeasure, Emirate. You've done just the opposite of what we've requested; you've brought Kaon to the attention of the High Council."

The Emirate feels as though the floor beneath him is slowly disintegrating to reveal a pit of black lava beneath. He desperately pleads, "Megatron, my child—"

"Is safe, Emirate. It seems through all of this, you've done one thing right. Barricade." Megatron keeps his optics on the Emirate as his loyal soldier steps out of the shadows beside his throne, holding a fighting sparkling. "Your son will remain with me; I've interests in certain details pertaining to him. He just may be of more use than you've been."

"Wilder!"

The sparkling jerks his processor up at the call of his designation in his father's voice, "Dad! Dad, Mom's in trouble! We gotta help her!" He tries but is unable to pry free of Barricade's hold. "Let go!"

Megatron chuckles, "A fighting spirit, this one has. Much like… his real father."

Emirate Xeon offlines his optics.

The sparkling ceases his struggle, unsure of what he just heard. "Dad…?"

"Wilder, I—" Emirate Xeon tries moving forward to reach his beloved child but is once more pulled back by Starscream. "Son…"

The red and white Seeker's smile gushes with satisfaction at the tragedy unfolding, "My my, Emirate, forgot to have that 'little chat' with Junior? Go on, Emirate. **Tell him**."

The sparkling's chassis is still as he waits for his father to speak, "Dad… what do they mean?"

"Wilder… Son, you know I love you—"

"Get on with it, Emirate, we haven't got the entire cycle." Starscream shoves his captive in the shoulder.

"You're… We found you. We found you and we brought you into our home, and, and our sparks. We didn't create you… but… But you'll always be my son, Wilder." Xeon feels his spark begin to splinter as he watches realization and confusion mix on his child's faceplates. He leans as far forward as his captor will allow and holds his servos up in a pleading, reaching gesture.

"Hm. 'Found'. Some word choice." Starscream sarcastically states.

The sparkling is slow to understand, but once he thinks he does, he finds it's okay. So he's adopted. A lot of sparklings are. "Daddy… It's okay. I don't care if I'm not… If you're not my real creator." He instinctively tries reaching for his father, but is roughly kept in place.

Megatron is surprised by this outcome while Starscream is disappointed. Sparklings this young usually don't take this kind of news so well, but perhaps under the current situation, things are to be different. Or perhaps this sparkling takes after his true father in more ways than one.

Xeon's processor dips as a wave of his child's forgiveness overtakes his circuitry. With his optics offlined, he can almost see his son's spark glowing in the darkness; glowing for him.

"It is time to say goodbye to your son, Emirate." Megatron intones in a low, even voice.

Xeon rips his processor upwards and onlines his optics to look upon the Gladiator Champion, "What—what do you mean? You said he's to be safe—"

"I didn't say anything about _you_, Emirate. Your case is much different." Megatron turns his optics to his Second in Command, who in turn brings the politician to his pedes.

"Your use has dried, Emirate, and you know too much. It's time to go for a swim." Starscream speaks directly into the Emirate's audio receptor to make sure his meaning is grasped.

"No! No, don't!" The child in Barricade's hold begins fighting once more. Thinking quickly, the sparkling formulates a plan of action. Barricade yells out in surprise when the child first stomps on his pede then turns on the highbeams on his forearms' headlights and directs the light at the Gladiator's optics; the painfully bright lights a stark contrast to the dark room. Breaking free, the youngling races forward and is about to reach his father when a large servo plucks him up by his processor.

"A lively one indeed, and able to best one of my finest Gladiators." Although he speaks in a complimentary tone, the dark lord's faceplates are cross with deep lines furrowing his features. He is none too amused when the child has the nerve to throw a useless right hook that lands on his solid chest compartment with a light 'thunk'. Before the child has a chance to throw any further demeaning blows, Megatron tosses the sparkling back to the waiting hold of Barricade. "**Try** to control him, Barricade."

"Say 'bye-bye' Emirate." Starscream begins pulling the Emirate away.

"Wait."

The entire gathering of mechs stops when they hear the new voice. A small figure emerges from the shadows of the far end of the throne room, coming to a stop a short ways away from the scene, waiting for permission to come closer.

A slight spark of surprise passes Megatron's optics, "Wilder. I was not aware of your presence in Kaon. I thought I made it clear when I told you to stay in Iacon."

The young Decepticon lowers his processor in apology, "I cry your pardon, Lord Megatron, but I've unfinished business here. I hope you understand."

Megatron only nods.

Wilder walks forward, stopping a short distance away from the Emirate, whose optics display horror, confusion, sadness, hurt. He looks upon his father's faceplates with complete hatred. Turning his processor, he observes the smaller sparkling in the grasp of his comrade.

"Wilder…?" Xeon can't comprehend this. Wilder is dead. He was killed. It was what broke Silhouette. What turned the politician so cold.

"Yes, Emirate. It's me. You look surprised. You really shouldn't be."


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: New drawing of Emirate Xeon and Nightbeat on my DA art page (link is on my profile page, just click my name at the top) please have a look.

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Why does he have that look on his face? What does it mean? My dad looks like he's just been shot. The room is very quiet. I feel like yelling just to affirm reality. That large mech –'Megatron' –and Starscream are both… very still, very solemn. They look like statues that are simply here to provide their shadowing presence but not to interfere with whatever is happening.

What's going on? Who's that boy? Why did Dad say 'Wilder'… but looked at him?

I don't understand.

I feel like I've been left out of something.

The other boy, the other 'Wilder', begins to speak, slowly; as though he is choosing his words very carefully, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Emirate. I never wanted to. I heard a rumor, though, one that I couldn't help but investigate myself." He casts his red optics towards me. They're empty, stone cold, yet I can feel a bitterness seeping through. "And now I see it's true."

The boy takes another step towards my dad, but then stops from taking another; it almost looks like he just bumped into an invisible wall. He stares at Dad's faceplates, as I find that I, too, am doing. Dad looks like he's seen a ghost.

Turning sharply on his heel, the other boy suddenly approaches me and roughly grabs my chin. He pulls it up to make me look at him. A look of dissatisfaction becomes apparent in his expression. I try squirming away when he lifts a servo and hooks his thumb digit under my visor and tries forcing it up. I find myself unable to speak.

"Leave him alone!" My father shouts.

"Shut up, Emirate." The boy harshly spats. My airway chokes shut in pain when finally the boy decides to just rip my visor out of its sockets. He tosses it aside and once more forces me to face him. I feel utterly violated as he peers into my optics as though he can see into my soul. At this close proximity, the red light of his optics mix with the golden hues of mine, creating a strange glow on our cheeks that makes me feel like I'm drowning.

Seemingly finding whatever it was he was looking for, the boy lingers for a moment longer, his faceplates falling into an unreadable mask. His servo loosens on my chin, and then slowly moves down until it's resting on my neck cables very gently, like a loving caress from a serpent.

He speaks, "It seems I did the right thing in leaving." His voice is quite, and I'm unsure if he's speaking to me or my father. "It looks like you've found your match, Emirate. He's just as weak as you, isn't he? Just as fragile…" His grip slowly constricts on my neck cables. "How very nice for you, Emirate." He seems to revel in the control he holds over me for a moment before releasing his hold and turning to face my father once more.

"Wilder, we thought…" My father can't seem to finish what he was going to say. Is he talking to me? Or the other one?

"Yes, I know what you thought, Emirate. Now you know the truth. I left. I couldn't be around either of you anymore. Especially you. You know, Silhouette was once something great in Kaon, but what happened? She met you. I couldn't stand the humiliation of even knowing you." The Other Wilder slowly steps towards my father. His voice is so even yet so venomous.

Who is this kid? How does he know my creators?

"I—I don't understand, what wrong have I ever done you? I thought things were-"

"No. You see, I discovered what true strength is. I discovered what true dignity is. I discovered the truth. By seeing these truths, I found what a lie I had been living. I did once look up to you. But now I see how weak and pathetic you are, and how foolish I was to have ever seen anything more. I also discovered…" the boy stops and looks back to the dark mech sitting in the throne with a sudden look of awe, the way a son watches his father, "My place and purpose. That place was not with you, Emirate."

The one called Megatron smiles.

I want to destroy this kid. I want to rip those ugly red optics out of his processor and break them in his teeth.

As if sensing my hostility, the Other Wilder turns and looks at me. "So this is my replacement."

…what?

My father tries to speak, he looks so agonized, "No, you don't—"

I must have an amusing look on my faceplates, because the Other Wilder scoffs humorously as he looks at me. The smile he wears, however, becomes wicked as he turns on my father once more and almost charges him, "You have no limits, do you? What was I to you? Was I a passing curiosity? An amusement? You think you can laugh at me? ME? Sometimes I think you're _**glad**_ I left—did you even want me? Well either way, I don't need you! Or her! I don't need **either** of you! You can both just **DIE **for all I care—and I hope you do!"

He sounds like he's choking something back. He says he doesn't care, yet the sound in his voice says otherwise; just as his trembling chassis does.

Realizing just how much he's revealing, the Other Wilder clenches his teeth in an effort to stop himself from going any further. He lowers his processor for a moment and regains control of his intakes. For a few kliks, the entire room is silent; numb. I also notice that Barricade's grip has loosened significantly on my shoulder—it's like he's mesmerized. Starscream hasn't even spoken a word since the other boy entered the room. The flyer doesn't even have his usual smirk.

The Other Wilder finally seems under control once more. Something about the way he smoothly raises his processor up to face my father… is unsettling.

"I heard the way you were talking to this one before I made my presence known." He looks back at me before turning his optics towards my father—but doesn't make optic contact. "You called him 'Wilder' and 'Son'. You've so far only called me 'Wilder'. So you've forgotten me entirely, then. Good. The abortion is complete."

Wait.

"However, I won't be made a fool, Emirate. I may have been once; I _must_ have been to have ever…" His optics meet with my father's.

"Wilder, please, I never—"

"Be silent. Your voice no longer reaches me. I wish it never had." The Other Wilder turns his processor to glance back at Megatron.

The dark Gladiator Champion barely nods his processor, "Why don't you do the honors, my child."

The boy looks as though he experiences a brief high when hearing his lord refer to him as such. Turning his attention back to my father, he reaches into a subspace compartment… and brings out a gun.

No.

Wait.

He raises the gun, my father in his sights.

"Wilder, don't… Primus...!"

The boy holds the weapon steady. Starscream releases my father and takes a step back. I feel as though my entire chassis has been lit on fire. I struggle to take a full intake. I have to scream, I have to try to get to that boy before he does this. My pedes. I can't move. I feel an intense, electric pressure fill the room, coming to a focus at the tip of that gun.

The room is so still. I want to scream.

Why am I just standing here?

The silence is splintered by the Other Wilder's voice, "It's time for you to choose, Emirate. You won't come out of this a winner either way." The boy suddenly turns the gun—his new target is—me.

Megatron leans forward in his chair, ready to bolt forward, "Wil-"

My father's voice, "NO!"

A shot.

It's so loud.

It's so loud.

I feel so warm.

Something trails down my chest compartment.

Did I…?

I come out of a daze and find that I'm face-to-face with my father.

I love him.

How did he get so close?

He looks… like he's in pain.

His arms are wrapped around me.

I feel something warm trailing down the front of my chassis.

I look down. There's a hole in my dad's chest.

Not in me.

I look back up into my father's optics. Oh Primus.

I choke. He leans his processor forward and touches his forehead to mine. He speaks to me.

"I love you… so… so much…" He intakes sharply. The sound of it echoes. He looks at me. He looks like he's about to cry. He presses his lips to mine. He kisses me.

"I love you… Nightbeat."


	33. Chapter 33

The star Alpha Centauri has long ago dipped under the horizon as seen from Sector Capri, bringing forth the recharge cycle and with it the denizens of it. Workers return to their small living quarters to see their families and kiss them goodnight. Overenergized mechs down on their luck stumble through the streets and allies, perhaps searching for another living soul. It is a rare occurrence to find either a femme or child walking about in the streets of Sector Capri at this late time of the recharge cycle; although there used to be one sparkling that seemed to own the place.

The Enforcer Academy of Iacon is still bright with happenings and life. Lights from the grounds penetrate the dark atmosphere and cast the Academy's presence upon surrounding living quarters and places of business, always reminding the bots of Sector Capri that they are there. At this point, there are mostly only students, Enforcers, and faculty members within the structure, though a few civilians still linger for whatever purposes.

Inside a spacious office, with walls that are lined with honors, awards, degrees, accomplishments, and antique weapons, a knock startles the only occupant within from his thoughts.

"Enter." Sentinel Major speaks curtly, though not out of anger but out of the frustration of dealing with what currently occupies his neural circuitry.

Blaster, the Enforcer Department's lead Communications Officer, steps into the dark office and takes the liberty of flicking on a light. "The solar cycle passed quite a while ago, if ya haven't noticed." He speaks in a friendly tone and doesn't expect a response.

As the Communications bot expected, Sentinel Major does not acknowledge his presence and rather stays standing by the window of his office, peering out as though he could find all he needed to know in watching the occasional drunkard limp by the front gates of the Academy. Taking his time, Blaster situates himself, setting a few datapads down onto the Enforcer Chief's desk and finding the particular one he needs before taking a seat.

Finally ready to begin, Blaster speaks, "Sir, we've received some bad news from Kaon."

Sentinel Major is unmoved for a moment, but then turns his processor to look at his subordinate with a questioning look, "What's happened?"

Surprised that he hasn't gotten his processor bitten off for no reason –as is to be expected when dealing with Sentinel Major –Blaster falters slightly before answering, "It's about the Emirate, sir. Authorities say that his home is currently in ruins; no sign of the Emirate or his family. No sign of what's gone down or by whose order."

The Chief sharply snaps his processor back towards the window, a slow boiling anger rising in his thoughts. "Things just keep getting better and better."

"So are you just gonna abandon Prowl?"

Sentinel Major looks at the red and yellow Officer with a rare show of surprise.

"Sir, I think you know just as well I do that Prowl's in Kaon right now, probably alone at that. You also know how slaggin OCD the kid is, and that he won't be comin' home till he's got what he left for. That kid. And if Red Alert's reports managed to make you see what Prowl couldn't, you know it's true, and you know that everything we've been seeing the last few cycles is connected. Prowl's a Pit of a student, Sentinel, and you know he's got a lot to offer Iacon; maybe even all of Cybertron." Blaster stands from his seat and goes to the office door," What a shame it would be if the pride of one mech were to let it burn away." And with that, the Communications Officer is gone.

A stillness grips the room.

Sentinel Major grinds his teeth. That fragging mech always knew just when to come waltzing into his office to say his piece and then have the nerve to just waltz right back out without hearing anything of a response. Sentinel has been dealing with this case all fragging day, and the Com. Officer acts like he's been blind to everything that's been happening.

He knows what's going on. He's the fragging head of this Department. He knows everything, doesn't he?

Shouldn't he?

The mech slams the flats of his servos onto his desk. Prowl was right. All the evidence Red Alert gathered is more than enough to prove that. Sentinel Major hadn't listened to him, so the Praxian did the most illogical thing and went off by himself to do… the right thing.

Suddenly feeling another presence nearby, the Enforcer Chief looks up from his brooding realization and finds a young mech leaning on the frame of his door. The two mechs simply stare at one another, each observing the other perhaps in an attempt to gather where their processor is. Finally, Sentinel speaks, "Why don't you call your instructor, Jazz. I've got a field trip for your class."

In the Southern Hemisphere of Cybertron, the city of Kaon has also lost the light of Alpha Centauri. There is little else that this part of the planet shares with the cities up North, however. Here, the masses are for the most part sober and alert at this time of the recharge cycle, ever ready to kill or be killed. Here, workers are leaving their families to earn a dishonest living in the innumerable veins of crime.

Unlike the Enforcer Department in Sector Capri, the Department of Kaon prefers to keep the lights to a minimum with the ending of the solar cycle; they hope that the surrounding citizens will forget that they're there at all. Most of the Enforcers leave the Department building before the last light of the solar cycle is gone, leaving an empty husk that poses no threat to the illicit activities of the streets.

One dim light emanates from an upper story window; the office of Enforcer Roulette. Ever since her return to her creation place of Kaon after graduating from the esteemed Enforcer Academy of Iacon, Roulette has made a name for herself as one of the craziest bots to tread the city. With an undying sense of justice and a stubborn streak thicker than the black oil of Unicron himself, the femme has made it her mission to set in motion the gears of change in hopes of returning Kaon to a former greatness it hasn't seen since the Golden Age.

Never has there been an Enforcer like Roulette. While the Departments of other city-states simply live in their blissful ignorance of what is rooted in Kaon, most of the force in the city itself is backed into a corner with a blaster to its back while criminals and gangs of all kinds ravage the city's slowly drying wells of hope and goodness.

Unlike her comrades who live in constant fear and paranoia, Roulette has somehow risen above such control. Already she has created quite a record of arrests and crackdowns, all of which has been slowly drawing the attention of the High Council; the young Enforcer's ultimate goal. If she can prove to the Council what Kaon and perhaps the rest of Cybertron faces in this underground world of violence and crime by bringing down its components, she may be able to ignite the cataclysmic step in bringing a cleansing wave to the city –in other words, some decent back-up.

For all of her known and unknown merits and shining moral compass, though, none of it seems to be helping her case at the moment.

Always keeping an optic on the exhausted mother from Sector Capri who is currently resting on the same makeshift berth that a little sparkling from Iacon had once occupied, Roulette searches her processor for the right words to tell the steady mech with icy optics standing before her. The tall Praxian is bathed in a striking mix of contrasting lights; the warm glow of the desk lamp softly accents the left side of his chassis while his right side is sharply defined by the cold light coming in through the window.

He's definitely matured into the look of an Enforcer.

"Are you going to keep fidgeting with your servos like a sparkling or are you going to tell me why you appear to be so cordial with the Emirate and his sparkmate?" Prowl speaks softly so that he won't disturb Minerva's rest, but firmly to push the point that his seemingly endless patience is beginning to wear.

Dropping said appendages to her side, Roulette leans back and takes a seat on the edge of her desk, turning her processor towards the window in hopes of catching a drift of fresh air. Ironic that she was once his upperclassman yet now he compares her to a child. Why does she feel guilty of something? She hasn't done anything wrong, so why is she having such difficulty in telling him the truth?

Releasing a soft sigh, the femme Enforcer drops her processor briefly before raising her optics to meet the stunning blue of the Praxian's. Has he always had such nice optics? The red chevron adorning his forehead is quite handsome as well; it gives him a noble appearance. And who knew that a simple black and white paint job could be so… alluring?

Watching the femme's optics slowly trail his chassis, Prowl suddenly feels a heated flush through his faceplates and suddenly realizes how cold the room is. Having never been 'checked out' before, he finds himself utterly unsure of what to do until he locates the source of the chilled air. "Ah, why don't we close the window?" He quickly approaches the open panel and shuts it with slippery servos.

Roulette smirks. She's made him nervous. See how quickly the tables can turn?

"Roulette…" Prowl keeps his back to the femme as he speaks, "I… want to be on the level with you. I've known you for… a while now, and I just need to know where you're at in all of this." He turns to look her in the optics, "I need to know I can trust you."

Ouch. Well, it's not like they ever really got to know one another that well, so Roulette shouldn't expect to have the mech's full trust. If anything, he's smart to question anything and anybot associated with Kaon, especially its Law enforcement.

Roulette holds the optic contact for a good, long moment to show that she has nothing to hide from him. "Alright, Prowl. I'll tell you. But first, how about a drink." She stands and heads for the office door. "Some privacy would be nice, too. And Minerva needs her rest."

Prowl goes along with the femme and allows his optics to follow the sway of her hips as she walks.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: I think this was the first weekend I only published one chapter! O_o Here's a long one to make up for that ^_^

To SEZwho94: heheh, we'll see if this proves to be a good thing or a bad thing for Prowl :D And thank you, I'm glad there's someone who understands my struggle! XD *cue violin*

Thank you to all my reviewers, and to all, Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

I press my burning faceplates against the cold floor of the cell. The air pinches my cheekplates where my tears have dried. I've come to a numb state. All I can feel right now is the intense pounding in my processor and a feverish heat in my circuits. My intakes still hiccup every now and then as I lay curled up in my imprisonment.

I'm not sure how long it's been. How long have I been laying here, a complete, utter mess? I haven't seen a window since I was brought here. I don't know if it's the solar cycle or the dark cycle when you can see the Moon Bases glowing high above Cybertron. I wish I could go to the Moon Bases. I wish I could go into space. It's quiet in space. Still. Cold.

I can only manage to let my mind drift for so long before I'm reminded again. He had grown still. He had grown cold as I held onto him.

Primus, he's _dead_!

A fresh pool of energon burns my tired optics but I fight to keep them from spilling out. Now isn't the time for mourning. I can't be weak right now.

I have to figure out what I'm going to do. I don't know what these mechs want with me, but I have to get out—I have to find my mother. She could be in trouble. I've let myself cry for long enough.

Now is the time for anger.

I pound my servos into the floor and splay my digits apart to push myself up onto my knees. I drag my digits and leave indents in the metal surface until my servos are tight fists. The first one that comes into this cell… I can't hold back. This is life or death. I love my father, but I won't be joining him in the grave, not yet.

He gave his life for me, and I won't ever forget that.

A brief cerebral surge suddenly disrupts my train of thought and forces me onto another. Wait. He had called me something. His last words to me…

He called me 'Nightbeat'.

That name—that's the same one that femme in Iacon had called me… That femme… who was she? Wait, I—I know her! I've known her for a long time… but… who _is_ she?

Who am I? Nightbeat, who is Nightbeat? I'm not Wilder, that other boy—he was Wilder. I'm Nightbeat. But what does that mean? What does Nightbeat mean?

I have to find out. If I'm Nightbeat, then there must be… I don't know, _something_ to help me remember. I begin going through everything in my subspace compartments. I pull out a toy ray gun—I had found it in the energon channel yet I've felt some kind of sentimentality attached to it. I pull out that card that I had used to get into that underground tournament where I fought the organic creature alongside those warriors. I pull out a magnifying glass that I had snuck out of my father's home office.

That's all I can seem to find—wait. I feel something pushed into the very back of one of my compartments. Very gently, I pinch the end of it and pull it out slowly—it feels like it's made of a delicate material—paper. It looks as though it's been soaked a few times, and there's ink bleeding through.

I open the folded piece of paper. I can't believe my optics.

_"Nightbeat"_

_I love her writing. It still has the swirly flicks of her wrist that it's always had. _

This note… _she_ wrote it… but… her name…

_"Hey! Nightbeat! Wait up!"_

The little, blue sparkling… I had seen a vision of him when I had put my processor in the fountain.

_"Siren, it's been a while."_

_"Oh, has it?"_

Siren? That… that sounds right! Siren! He had that cube—that cube that he couldn't figure out. He had been pretty upset when I had simply switched two of the colored stickers to solve the puzzle. Where had I been when I saw Siren? There was a large, regal-looking building nearby… an Academy.

_"Shouldn't you be in school?"_

A Praxian, with big, white wings—no, door panels—and a red 'V' shape on his forehead… Prowl! He's a student at the—Enforcer Academy of Iacon!

Ratchet, that medic, he also had a 'V' shape on his forehead! The medic… I was seeing a medic when my leg had been severed off…

In a harbor. By a passing ship's rudders. My leg was blue, not white like it is now. Why was I in such a situation?

Brawl! He'd thrown me in! He caught me—I was trying to save Siren, and he caught me—in the factory! The factory in…

Slaggit!

Wait, that harbor, it meant something to me. It was the place where… where my dad had… died? But that doesn't make sense. He… He died here. In Kaon.

My processor feels like it's going to explode! What is all of this! Are these memories? They must be, but they aren't making much sense!

Wait—Sector—Sector D-12! D-12, that doesn't quite sound right. Cavvum… Cavvum de Primus! Ca-Pri! Sector Capri! That's what we called it!

We, but who's 'we'? Prowl wasn't a local. Siren was. Ratchet wasn't.

Wait. It's coming back now. My dad… he was a detective, not an Emirate. He was killed by—the Circuits! The Circuits, who he knew was connected to Kaon—the Gladiators of Kaon!

That voice recording that I have in my processor—the one of Starscream—it's the final piece of evidence to solve his case! And I found it—I found it… in Iacon, in the living quarters of… the Emirate.

Who is Xeon and Silhouette to me, aren't they my creators? No…

My home is Sector Capri.

My name is Nightbeat.

My father was a Detective but was killed by the organized crime syndicate known as the "Circuits" of Sector Capri, though in his reports my he called them the 'Capri Gladiators'. He believed they are connected to the Kaon Gladiators. And I've proved it.

I don't go to school because I prefer to learn at my own pace and level—which is far beyond what the educational structure of Sector Capri provides.

I have a friend named Siren and an older one named Prowl. Prowl is going to be an Enforcer. Siren is going to be my partner in the investigative business—if he wants to.

I had been following the Circuit's activity mainly by staking out in the Sector's old factory in an effort to finish my father's work, but the last time I got caught, the Kaonian thugs Brawl and Barricade tied me up and threw me into the harbor. The same one where they found my dad's mauled chassis.

I drifted in the current after losing a leg. I was found by a femme. She took me in. Her sparkmate didn't seem too fond of the idea of having me around—and apparently they thought they were going to keep me forever…

I met a boy. Mirage. I thought he was just a snob at first, but he proved otherwise.

I lean back against the wall of the cell. Primus. Xeon wasn't my real father. Silhouette isn't my real mother. How did all of this happen? I'm… not sure if I want to be Nightbeat. However, I don't think I can be Wilder, either.

What do I do? Where do I go? There's still something missing… that femme from Iacon… she's the final piece to this. I knew her…

She's my mom. My mom!

Minerva!

Unable to stop myself, I look down at my arm and scrape my digits against it as hard as I can. I have to prove this! Yes! Underneath my white paint—it's blue!

I—I know what I have to do! I have to escape these mechs—the Gladiators of Kaon, of all mechs for me, the son of a detective who was on their case, to be captured by—and I have to get to Iacon, to testify and prove my father's case with this voice recording!

I have to get back to Sector Capri!

I have to see her! We—we argued. We fought the last time we saw each other.

That doesn't matter! I have to get out of here!

"Nightbeat? Nightbeat!"

I spin on my heels and face the bars of my cell but see nobot. That voice—

"Mirage?" I run to the bars and grab onto them, my exposed optics desperately searching the dank hall outside.

Deactivating his cloaking device, the young High Towers bot materializes before me, "Your visor's missing, not to mention you've got a new paint job—I wasn't entirely sure it was you."

"Mirage, how did you get here? We're still in Kaon, aren't we?"

"I—yes, we're in Kaon. I had, well, jumped aboard the Emirate's 'copter when he was taking you..." A red flush becomes apparent on his faceplates.

This is a surprise. We only knew each other for hardly a deca-cycle, and he came to _Kaon_ for me? I feel a flush begin to settle on my own faceplates—as a femme would put it, us mechs aren't too good with mushy friend feelings. "You're crazy."

The other sparkling looks up and finds me smiling, and he returns it, "You're telling me. I believe you've been a terribly dangerous influence on me, is how I see it."

"You lookin' for another fight, kid?"

"Oh, I plan on starting one as soon as I get you out of that cell." He thoughtfully observes the bars and the framing structure of said cell, looking for a weak spot or something of the like.

"Wait—Mirage, somebot's coming! Quick, hide!" I feel the irony slap me in the face as I tell a bot that can turn invisible to hide.

I hear a thunderous group of pedes approaching my cell down the hall. I back myself into a far corner and prepare myself. This is going to be ugly. I hope Mirage isn't watching, wherever he's gone to.

Barricade, a purple Seeker—I think his designation is 'Skywarp'—and that blue mech… Soundwave. He's the one who erased my memory! Or at least he thought he did! Wait, if he's some kind of telepathic, he'll know I've accessed the copied files of my memory that I had hidden in my personality components!

Oh well. Let him try and pull another stunt.

"Open the cell." Skywarp stands with his fists on his hips as he calls the order over his shoulder to Barricade.

"Sure thing, fairy princess." The Gladiator scoffs at being ordered by a Seeker and pounds a code into the cell's door panel.

"What was that?" The flyer's chest compartment puffs up as he turns towards the Gladiator. What an idiot.

"You don't wanna start with me, Seeker. Just keep yer wings straight an yer lips on Megatron's pedes." He opens the cell door and gestures for the Seeker to enter.

Skywarp hesitates, "What, why do _I _gotta goes an get 'im?"

A sharp grin crosses Barricade's faceplates, "What, ya scared of a lil sparkling? You afraid them big optics are gonna spit lasers atcha?"

The two mechs stare one another down until Skywarp finally turns and starts coming for me with his black servos out in front of him. He thinks he's just gonna come pick me up like a baby?

I back my chassis into the corner as far as I can go. Don't come any closer. Don't do it. You'll regret it. I curl forward slightly, looking almost like that organic did when it was getting ready to jump me.

The dumb Seeker tries his words on me, "C'mon, kid, I ain't got the whole cycle. How's about a Null-Ray to da face to calm ya down?" Not following through on his threat—like he should've—the flyer reaches a servos towards me like he's gonna grab me by my shoulder.

Barricade leans against the frame of the cell door and chuckles.

Okay. That's it. You did it.

Soundwave begins to call out a warning, "Skywarp—Exercise caution: Sparkling is—"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Skywarp wrenches his chassis backwards and crashes into the opposing cell bars, taking me along for the ride as I keep my teeth locked down on his servo's index digit. "SLAG! FRAGGIN' PIT! GET 'IM OFF! HE'S GONNA BITE IT OFF! FRAG!"

Barricade bursts into maniacal laughter. He saw this coming from a mile away.

I continue to tighten my bite—I'm takin' this slaggin' thing off. I can feel the dermal plating split and the circuitry underneath send tingles of electricity through my teeth. Almost there.

"YOU LITTLE FREAK! HELP ME, YOU AFTHOLES!" The Seeker screams to the point that static begins filtering through his vocalizer. He tries desperately to pry my jaw open but is unable to gain leverage.

Soundwave finally gets his pedes moving and approaches me, reaching a servo towards my processor. He thinks he's gonna put me in another one of those dazed states? Taking advantage of the anger this thought brings me, I rear my processor back and the servo digit disconnects with a rupturing of energon lines and sparks of light.

The purple flyer's vocalizer hikes up about five decibels—what a wimp! I lost a _leg_ and didn't even feel it! I feel a grand sense of victory with this defiant accomplishment and to tie it off, I turn and spit the leaking chassis part at the blue mech who is currently trying to scoop me up. An intense wave of satisfaction fills me with internal giggles when the mech visibly flinches as the severed digit reflects off his visor, leaving a smudge of energon behind.

I'm pretty sure this is the most violent thing I've ever done. I doubt I'll be surpassing it anytime soon.

"You little fragging **glitch**! I'm gonna tear your optics out!" Skywarp makes a lunge for me, but I'm unable to avoid the pounce as I'm trapped in the hold of the telepath.

To my complete and utter surprise, _Barricade_ of all mechs intercepts the raged Seeker by ramming his own chassis into him and pinning him against the wall. "Megatron made it clear when he said the sparkling was to be left untouched, _**Skywarp**_." His tone if _filled_ with contentment. And threat.

"Get the frag off, Barricade! I can hurt him in ways that won't leave a mark! Little monster took my fraggin' digit!" As if Barricade hadn't witnessed the happening himself, Skywarp raises his four-digit servo to show him.

"Get over it, ya cryin' femme. You're gonna lose a lot more n' a digit in this business, so get used to it." He roughly shoves the other against the wall before releasing him. Turning to look at me, Barricade's mug spreads into an impressed grin, "Momma done raised a scrapper, eh?"


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: wow, I feel so weird after having not written a new chapter for what, four days or something? XD got weighed down with the homework, but it's all good :D

To Vivienne Grainger: I'm glad you've been enjoying the story, it's been quite an experience for me, and your comments have always been so uplifting and pushed me to keep going ^_^ Indeed, we're reaching the end pretty soon, but in a way it's only the beginning for Nightbeat… :D

To SEZwho94: yeah, Nightbeat's definitely got some tabs against the 'Cons at this point, so you know he's gonna prove to be a hard fighter for the Autobots when the time comes ^_^ Thank you for ya comments! ^_^

Thank you to my reviewers, and to all, Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

"She's…"

"Yeah." Roulette takes a hard swig of her small cube of high grade.

Prowl's chassis is frozen in shock—the femme has just shared with him a very significant bit of information, one that would have been nicer to have known _before_ heading for the Emirate's home earlier. He struggles furthermore with his thoughts on whether or not his former upperclassman is trustworthy. This makes things quite difficult.

The two bots stand a few steps shy from one another, each with a cube of a questionable grade of energon; certainly not something that _should_ be in an Enforcer Department. Who knew that Prowl of all mechs would be partaking in such an activity. The two aren't alone, however. They stand in the subsurface, bunker-like halls of the Kaonian Enforcer Department that contain the holding cells—one of which is occupied by a patched up femme lying in recharge on a berth.

Prowl himself takes a nip of his drink and speaks contemplatively, "Your sister. I suppose it's no wonder then how the Emirate knew you as well. But, Roulette… Why didn't you tell us this _before_? Even when we went to school together, I had no idea you had any siblings." He turns to look at her, wanting for an answer.

Roulette keeps her optics on the resting femme in the cell before her, not feeling like she could handle herself right now if she were to look into the Praxian's icy optics, "Well… Silhouette and I, we're—different. We both chose very different paths after we lost our other sister. She chose the path of the streets that Kaon offered while I chose to earn the power to fight the very thing that killed our sister. We drifted and just haven't, well, been a part of one another's life. I couldn't stand to see what she'd become. She became a component of the force that killed our sister." She takes another long drink from her cube and a bitterness crosses her faceplates; whether it's caused by the sting of the high-grade or the words she speaks, Prowl is unsure.

With the high-grade burning in her throat, Roulette's next words are spoken in a low, rough voice, "In a way you'd say I lost two sisters that cycle."

It is easy to see now where the femme Enforcer pulls her fiery passion from. As Prowl observes the brief clouds of the embittered past that passes through her optics, however, he hopes that it won't prove to be her undoing. Everybot must learn to let the past be what it is. Though one's mind may never be free of it, it must be accepted so a future can be attained.

Her intentions seem more clear now, and Prowl feels a little guilty for doubting them. However, with Nightbeat's well-being on the line, the young mech is willing to take no chances. Everybot is to be questioned in their objective.

The femme behind bars at the moment—Silhouette –has proved to be of little help. After she was patched up by a medic, she only told the two bots what they already knew: Nightbeat was taken by Megatron's mechs, presumably to Kolkular. It has also been made quite apparent that she's got a few thousand bolts loose in her processor. She's completely convinced that Nightbeat is her real creation, Wilder.

Try as he may have, Prowl was unable to dig up anything on this 'Wilder' in the Kaon Enforcer Department records. Roulette, however, verifies his existence; his birth was the only thing that had brought the two sisters together for a brief time.

Minerva, meanwhile, has been and still is recharging in Roulette's office upstairs. She's been dead silent ever since they reached the Department. Her changed demeanor has proven to cause a high level of worry in the Academy student. Perhaps Prowl ought to go check on her…

Before he makes a move for the stairwell at the end of the dimly lit hall, the Praxian is a little unnerved to realize the feeling that he's being looked upon. Turning his processor, he finds the optics of his femme comrade on him once more—particularly, his face.

"Ah, Roulette," he nervously clears his suddenly parched throat, "you're, uh, you're staring."

"You don't like being stared at?" Her tone is even and difficult if not impossible to read, although most mechs would clearly understand her intent. Prowl, of course, is a different case.

"Well, er, it's not—ah, I'm not—" the Praxian nearly trips backwards on himself when the femme takes a slow step towards him with an observing expression.

"You know, you get this certain look when you start zoning out. Your chin crinkles a little and you look like you've tasted something sour." Same tone, leaving Prowl still unable to read her.

"Oh, ah, I apologize if I've offended you, I didn't mean to ignore your company or anything, I suppose my mind tends to drift—"

"Where to?" A little smirk tugs at the corner of her lip components.

"Where-? Um, I'm not sure I—" Prowl nearly jumps out of his dermal plating when his back suddenly comes into contact with a wall. He had unknowingly been backing up as the femme had advanced towards him.

"You know…" Roulette places one of her servos against the wall by Prowl's processor and leans on it, "A part of me wished that you'd never come to Kaon, that you'd never see what I came from." Her optics take on a distant look as they absently trace the proudly-held door panels protruding from the Praxian's back.

Prowl finds himself wanting to assure her that she ought not to be ashamed of anything that she is or is a part of. He doesn't want her to lose that passionate strength for even a moment. She's truly a force to be reckoned with; she has the ability to either bring a mech to his greatest potential or to his knees in agony. In this moment, standing so close, she doesn't even seem real, but rather is like an untouchable apparition that could disappear with the lightest misstep.

He doesn't want her to disappear. He wishes he could reach out if only to confirm that she's so close in this short, eternal moment.

Bringing herself to look into his cold, optical pools of pale blue, Roulette's voice grows quiet, "But you know what, Prowl, I'm really glad you're here. And I'm glad you found me." She stands on the tips of her pedes and places her servos gently on his shoulders.

All his life, Prowl has never been sure whether or not he would know what to do in a situation like this. His processor, however, turns and dips to meet her as if he's known all along.

A surprisingly shy and chaste kiss meets his lips, but the briefness of it makes it all the more sweet and dream-like, almost like it didn't happen for real. Both bots online their optics after unconsciously having shuttered them and drink in the visage of the other's face so close to their own. Both smile simultaneously; why haven't they done this before?

* * *

Mirage cautiously follows the three mechs through the dark, rusty corridors of the subsurface portion of Kolkular. One of those mechs, the one that had been caring for Mirage, has Nightbeat, who looks like he's in some kind of hypnotic lull. He certainly isn't fighting anymore, which worries the young gentlemech.

The Towers sparkling keeps his distance from the group from fear of the blue mech sensing his presence—the mech must have some kind of strong sixth sense or something, because he had read Mirage like an open book earlier. The mech, however, had made the mistake of leaving him under the care of two of his Casseticons; it had been a breeze escaping them.

Mirage follows the mechs out of the cell halls and out to a more open hallway that has large windows on one side going down its length. These windows, however, do not look out to the sky or a city scene. An intensely bright yellow that appears to be churning penetrates the glass—it's the Smelting Pool. Mirage had studied its history in Government class.

Just to think that countless bots of all kinds—even rumors of alien organics—have met their fate in the depths of this molten substance. Mirage doesn't quite fancy being so close to it. It must be a painful way to go, as it isn't concentrated quite enough in its acidic elements to instantly melt a chassis. No, it takes time. It's a slow process. Mirage doesn't want to experience that.

He's always hoped to offline from old age. A strange wish for a Towers bot, coming from a society that relies heavily on aesthetics and glamour; most hope that they offline from an exciting accident that will be raved about for deca-cycles rather than grow weak and feeble.

Mirage supposes that it must be his love for simply being around to see things happen. He's never really cared much for what he himself looks like—although he does of course take pride in his paint and wax job, as he was raised to—but he finds that he gains a great deal of enjoyment in just… watching. Listening. It's nice to interact sometimes, but, well, that has never blown over too well. Not until he met Nightbeat, that is.

Speaking of Nightbeat, it would appear that the mechs taking him away have managed to put quite a distance between Mirage and themselves while the sparkling's mind had briefly drifted. Mirage is about to catch up with them when something emerges from one of the nearby conjoined halls—a large, black Cybertronian creature of some kind, one of the blue mech's creations.

Mirage stops in his tracks, hoping that his cloaking device is enough to keep him obscured from the black beast's attention. Wishful thinking. Mirage feels his internals twist in anxiety as he watches the mechs take Nightbeat through a set of tall double doors, leaving his line of sight. They tighten furthermore when the black creature suddenly rears its processor and looks directly at him, a low rumble emanating from its vocalizer.

Does it see him? There's no way, his cloacking device is on—isn't it? Checking himself, Mirage verifies that it is indeed activated, but apparently this creature has more to rely on than sight alone. A yelp escapes his vocal processor when the black Cybertronian suddenly bellows ferociously and leaps into the air, Mirage in its sights.

Mirage turns and transforms with deft speed and shoots down the hallway, the creature just barely missing its mark. Uncaring of giving his position away at the moment, the Towers sparkling lays on the acceleration and the loud shrills of his alt-form engine reverberates from all sides of the corridors. Unsure of where to go, Mirage follows his gut instincts and just guns it, hoping for the best.

He almost feels a sense of relief as the creature grows further and further away, until Mirage has to slam on his brakes—a dead end! Transforming into his bi-pedal form, a painful shiver shoots up his spinal column when he hears the heavy thumping of the approaching creature's pedes accompanied by a shrieking roar. Searching for options, the sparkling's optics catch sight of a stairwell in the direction he came from, further down the hall—why did he pass it?

Before he can make a dash for the stairs, the creature slides to a halt a few paces away from him. It holds still in a predatory stance, its processor held low and its shoulders held high. He's gotta think. This creature is clearly using some other way of tracking him—probably with sound and smell.

Can he somehow counter these advantages? Is it possible?

In terms of smell, Mirage is out of luck. His ruined, streaking paint and wax makes for quite a strong aroma—not a bad one, thanks to his lightly scented wax—so that's out of the table of options. What about sound?

The High Towers sparkling is brought back to full awareness when the ebony Cybertronian suddenly puts a single paw-like pede forward and bares its teeth—almost in a grin. So it's a showdown, is it? Wait till the bots back home hear about this one.

Taking all of his bravery reserves, Mirage takes initiative in the face-off and begins charging directly towards the creature. Although baffled for a moment, the creature is not slow to meet his forward hurtle in kind. Waiting until the right moment, Mirage transforms into his alt-form and blasts his roaring engine to its highest possible output, sending his RPM meter to its highest mark.

Just as he hoped, the beast is briefly disoriented by the audio-assaulting decibels and leaps off to the side out of instinct, opening a straight shot to the stairwell. Returning to his robot form, Mirage dashes to the stairs and is going up them faster than he thought he could. It isn't long, however, before he's joined by his pursuer.

The creature's shrill cries promise vengeance and pain for its hurt audio processors, giving Mirage an extra boost in his step. These stairs are going on for forever! Finally reaching a door to get out of the stairwell, Mirage is quick to be through it and on his way through what appears to be a warehouse-like section. Seeing that he has a lead on his chaser, the sparkling decides to run for shelter behind a stack of huge, metal containers that are labeled "Rheanimum".

Holding his breath, Mirage feels his optics begin to burn as he hears the creature stealthily enter to large, machine-cluttered warehouse. Then he hears nothing. That can't be good. Using the last bit of his nerve, Mirage slowly peeks around the metal container he's hiding behind. Nothing. That's really not good.

Suddenly, he hears a light clang on the top of the tall stack of containers. Looking up, he's met by the red optics of his pursuer. That's just… not good.

The creature drops from its perch as Mirage just barely gets out of the way. The sparkling ducks as the ebony menace swipes a large 'paw' at his processor—a blow that surely would have knocked it clean off. The paw-like pede follows through on its momentum, however, and breaks open one of the metal containers with its serrated digits.

A loud eruption of some kind of gas-like substance bursts from the container, engulfing the sparkling in a cloud. The creature is too quick, and leaps clear of the gaseous material. Inside the green plume, Mirage feels the strange substance cling to his chassis and it almost seems to tighten his dermal plating. Careful to hold his intakes, the sparkling flees from the spilling gas and falls to his knees as the abrupt shock of being consumed in such a manner leaves him shaken.

Remembering his dilemma, the sparkling is too slow to relocate the creature—which is currently launched into the air and headed straight for him!

Mirage tries but is unable to jump out of the way in time—this thing is fast! The beast lands on its mark and the sparkling falls flat on his back with a loud clang, and fear engulfs him when his cloaking device is deactivated by the harsh impact. The creature stands above him, looking like it is considering taking a bite out of him, keeping him in place with a large 'paw' on his chest compartment.

The sparkling wishes he were as brave as his friend, Nightbeat. What would _he_ do in a situation like this? Bite digits? Poke optics? Kick groin plating? Even against an attacker, Mirage isn't sure he'd be able to hurt another bot. In this current position, with his weak strength, he's not even sure he's physically capable to.

Mirage shutters his optics when the black fiend is about to latch its teeth onto some part of his chassis, but is surprised when the weight is suddenly lifted from his chest compartment. Lying still for a moment just in case the creature is waiting for him to make a move, Mirage listens for any indication of the creature's presence. After a tense moment, he onlines his optics and finds—he's indeed not alone, but a very different bot meets his optics.

"Guess I spooked that thing off. You don't look like you're supposed to be here, darlin'."


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the late posting! I had a lot of running around to do this morning X)

To thepheonixqueen: I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! ^_^ Thanks for letting me know, it's always great to hear how readers are feeling about my work! ^_^_^_^ Thank you for the compliments, too! X3

To Vivienne Grainger: ooh yay I'm glad you liked the chase scene, I actually kept revising and adding more to it until I was satisfied, and I'm happy you were too! ^_^ Thank you for all your comments!

To SEZwho94: hehe, when I discovered Roulette and found out she was an Enforcer, I just thought it would only be natural for those two to become close :D hah, I know, I wish Silhouette's creators had been able to use her original name, but because of copyright issues they had to officially dub her as 'ShadowStriker' :/ not as cool sounding I think, and the rhyming thing was too perfect X) lol them 'Cons are indeed crazy, and I know that even in cannon works mechs have used the term 'darlin' (take Lockdown for example, he uses it with Blackarachnia) :D

Thank you to all of my supportive readers, commenters, and to those who have faved and put this story on alert! ^_^_^_^ All ya'll are awesome! Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

I feel my senses slowly return to me. The dreamy, warm fog that I've been encased in—I'm assuming all thanks to the telepath mech—lifts from my neural circuitry, and the harsh cold of the air around me causes me to gasp, almost in pain. I'm lying flat on my back, on some kind of hard surface. I shutter my optics when they're assaulted by a blearing white light coming from above. I try to move my arms to block the source from my exposed optical sensors, but find that they—along with my legs—are locked down by metal cuffs onto the table.

What is this, an interrogation?

Something… feels odd. I can't quite put my servo on it, but something is out of place. I glance around to the side, searching for some kind of answer, whether it is in the form of another bot or—my upper processor housing sitting on a metal tray. Alright, so my processor's internals are exposed, that explains the bizarre sensations I'm feeling through my circuitry.

For any reason, this can't be good.

A large set of dark blue servos gently grasp the sides of my processor and turn it so that I'm once again looking up at that blasted light. Ignoring the blinding source, I do my best to look beyond it to find the owner of the servos. It's Soundwave, the telepath. I'm getting tired of this pattern of events. I wonder if he has any hard feelings for the whole spitting-the-Seeker's-digit-at-him event; I couldn't have helped myself, I was caught up in the moment and he was the closest target.

"Sparkling is aware. Scans indicate: Sparkling has re-attained full access to memory files." The volume of his vocalizer seems to grow hesitantly quiet at that last bit.

"Hn. So he managed to outmaneuver you at your own game, did he?" A deep, smooth chuckle comes from somewhere in the shadows.

I know that voice. It's the one I had heard at the Gladiator stadium. It's the one that had given Wilder permission to kill my—the… Emirate.

The Kaonian Gladiator, Megatron, steps into my view, his red optics somehow piercing through the bright white light above me. His massive frame looms over me. He has a small smile at the edges of his lip components, a very unsettling one at that; it's like he's observing a foreign creature rather than a fellow Cybertronian.

I sense Soundwave's chassis go tense as his servos slightly grip my processor; he thinks his boss is angry with him. Megatron speaks before his loyal minion can, "Well, you simply did not know just _who_ you were dealing with. His father proved well enough that a crafty processor runs in the family. Isn't that right, Nightbeat?" He's trying to appear friendly, but I know better.

What does he mean when he says my 'father'? Does he mean the Emirate? Or did he know my real dad? An unintentional snarl crosses my faceplates as I look at him; if I had my visor on, it wouldn't be so apparent. The dark mech once more delights in a brief, quite bit of laughter. Why do these low-life bots always find so much amusement in my anger? Do I look like I'm about to blow a gasket or something?

"You seem quite young, Nightbeat. Younger than Wilder, I would say. I wonder: were you old enough to have even really known your father before he went offline?" His smile fades into a deceptive look of sympathy.

For whatever purpose, he's trying to get inside my mind, to trick me into trusting him.

Seeing that he's not getting a response from me, he continues with his little masquerade, "You know, Nightbeat, I knew your father. We met on quite a few occasions. A brilliant thinker, he was." He reaches a servo out and lifts my chin, "I can see so much of him in you, his only child. If only he was around to see what a fine creation he made. It's truly a misfortune for a boy to grow up without his father."

You son of a glitch.

"Although you may believe you know what your father was working towards in his career, your accessible memory files indicate that you don't know every aspect of the story. You're missing quite a few pieces."

Whatever he's about to say, I shouldn't believe it.

"You seem to be under false pretenses about our cause. Soundwave tells me that you believe us to be the enemies of the High Council and that we mean to do harm to the inhabitants of Cybertron. You're correct about one thing: we are indeed at odds with the Council. We Decepticons do not agree with this current system of castes and giving privileges to a select few while the rest of us rust and break under their servo until we are finally used to our fullest extent and deemed obsolete. What the High Council has done is abolish the right to be ambitious. As I'm sure you know, a bot cannot choose their own path, but rather is doomed to relive the same function as their creators, and their creators, and all of their ancestors leading back to the Golden Age."

The way he speaks, the power in his voice… he's so… awe-inspiring.

"This form of functioning has brought blight upon Cybertron; it has brought us to an age of stasis. It will not be long before we as a species will begin to decay, just as our Space Bridges in the stars above us have. We were once a breed of explorers, a breed of conquerors. We settled other planets in other star systems, and even began reaching out to other galaxies. Can you imagine the power that is to be gained—to be rightfully earned—out there, beyond our own star of Alpha Centauri?

"There are whole worlds awaiting us, but we cannot move towards rebuilding our lost Golden Age if we are prohibited our right to be ambitious, to choose for ourselves. This is the beginning of a new age, Nightbeat, an age where all Cybertronians shall rise up and take their rightful places amongst the stars, choosing to follow whatever path they so wish. It has already begun. Simply look at me if you do not believe. I was once a miner in the Energon Mines here in Kaon, a slave to the High Council's bidding. But I have taken the first step, I have risen above their power—I have taken control of my own destiny!" The Gladiator turns away and holds his fists into the air, as if the High Council itself lurked in the shadows he faces.

A chill runs up my spinal column.

"Your father." The warrior turns to face me, "He agreed with me. He shared my ideals, just as many others do."

I… I can't believe what he says. He's trying to trick me…

"We worked for our common goal—we did this together, Nightbeat. The reports he wrote, they were only a cover. We did not want the High Council or the Enforcers to catch on to our plans. You see, Nightbeat, they are the privileged, and they do not wish to lose their hold on us."

My vocalizer trembles as I try to firmly defend my father, "I—I don't believe you!"

The dark lord is quiet, as is the room. He observes my face with steady optics before turning the rest of his frame towards me. I feel my vocal cables tighten as he slowly steps towards me, his huge pedes somehow treading silently, making it seem like he's a large storm cloud moving in.

The tense silence is driving me insane, so I speak up once more to break it, "My father would **never** join you! You rob those who can't defend themselves, and you slay the innocent-!"

**"'INNOCENT', child?" **The massive mech nearly charges me and I try out of instinct to flee as his faceplates come much too close to my own, fury burning vigorously in those pools of red. **"And who would you deem as 'innocent'? Cybertron and its inhabitants have lost their sparks! We live in a time ruled by mindless drones! The weak have no place in our future! They are a disease that only strengthens the rule of the powers that be! Only the strong shall survive!"** Megatron bashes the metal tray table that my processor housing sits upon, sending both flying into an opposing wall. A look of feral insanity holds his faceplates, bearing his teeth and sending flaring flickers from his optics.

I unconsciously try once more to pull against the bonds holding my arms and legs down; I'm afraid. This mech, he's insane! I offline my optics and try to focus on anything else besides the sound of my quivering intakes in the room that is silent once more.

I hear him shift. A vent of air leaves his intakes. He begins walking—but away from me. Gathering the nerve to online my optics, I see that he's approaching my cast-off processor panel. He gingerly picks it up, turns, and approaches me. I can't control my chassis and flinch when he raises the protective housing and places it back on my processor. I watch his faceplates very closely, trying to find anything readable in his somber expression.

Megatron reaches a servo beneath the table I'm on and flicks a deactivation switch, releasing the bonds from my arms and legs. I stay still for a moment, unsure of whether or not making a move would incite an attack. I'm forced to sit up when Soundwave—I didn't know he was still here—lifts my processor off the table.

The Gladiator Champion nods to his telepathic follower and returns his attention to me, "You are living in a time of change. It is unfortunate that you must go through this period at such a young age, but hiding from the truth will not help you. You know I'm right, Nightbeat, and you know your father felt the same way. Whether you know it yourself, you too share our beliefs. You've grown up in Sector D-12, among bots whose lives have not been their own for as long as they've been online. It may be hard for you to believe that there could be any other way of life, but I'm here to show you that there is.

"You are strong, Nightbeat, just as your father was. You will survive this time, and you will reign in the coming age, alongside others who share the same strength. You can help us now, Nightbeat, you can join us and further progress our reach. While working together, your father and I had a very important goal, one that would be necessary to attain in order to overpower the High Council to take back Cybertron from their tyranny. There was something we were searching for, Nightbeat. An object that would give us the power to avoid a war altogether; one that would bring peace before the first shot was ever fired. Your father found this object, Nightbeat, but his life was taken before he could share with us its location."

"You—but, you killed him…" I cringe internally at how pathetic I sound. I can't help it. This is too much; my insides are twisting up in knots. My neural circuitry is burning.

Megatron grasps my shoulders firmly and looks me in the optics, "**No**, Nightbeat, that is only what you were told. That is what the High Council and their soldiers wanted you to believe. They meant to turn you against us before you could even begin to learn the truth for yourself. Your father was a brother to me, a brother to all Decepticons. He would have wished it that you help us finish what he could not."

I…I don't know what to do.

"Your father was smart, Nightbeat, there's no way he would have risked losing all that we had both worked for. He found what we had been searching for, and I know he left a clue of some kind behind. I believe he left it with you, Nightbeat, so that you would be able to finish his work, to solve the final puzzle. Try to think, Nightbeat, what did your father tell you the last time you saw him?"

How does he know my father saw me the cycle that he… that he was offlined? There's no way he could know that. If my father did give me some kind of clue to be stored in my subconscious memory banks, then that meant that he was trying to hide it. He was trying to keep it safe from somebot. The last time I saw him…

He looked very pale, like something very bad was coming to take him away. His optics were so dull. He hugged and kissed me like he knew it was the last time, and it was. He held my mother for a very, very long time. He said he loved us both very much. And he…he gave me…

My ray gun.

"Sparkling's thought process indicates: possible clue left behind by father: toy shaped into a weapon form." Soundwave's monotone voice sends energon rushing through my lines—no!

"Of course! I should have known! So simple yet so easily overlooked, as your father's tactics were usually laid out. Where is this toy, Nightbeat? Do you have it with you?" The dark mech smiles, looking like he's about to strike out like a serpent. He crouches over slightly to be optic-level with me, and reaches an expectant servo out, waiting for me to place the object of his desire in it.

"N-no!" Not a very convincing lie.

"Sparkling's placement of object: right-side subspace compartment on side of upper leg."

"If you would, Soundwave." He gestures for his lieutenant to seize my chassis and take the gun from me.

I fight as best as I can, thrashing my processor and appendages wildly about, making it difficult for the telepath to reach for my subspace compartment panel. I yell, "No! I won't let you! You're lying! He meant to hide it from you, not hand it over! I'll never let you!"

Megatron smiles contently as Soundwave finally manages to still me with a painfully tight embrace around my upper chassis, trapping my arms at my sides. I try hitting him in the faceplates with the back of my processor, but my attempts are in vain. Forcing the panel to my subspace compartment open, Soundwave is able to pull out the toy ray gun. The gun drags a piece of paper out of the compartment as well, and it flutters onto the ground.

Megatron curiously looks down at the flimsy piece of paper and picks it up. He chuckles, "Afraid you would forget your real name again?" He shreds the note from my mother and lets the pieces fall like bits of ember. He takes the gun from Soundwave, "Hn. Doesn't look like much, but I suppose that is how your father meant it to be." Without a moment's hesitation, Megatron rips the toy gun in half—the last gift from my father.

"No!" I try lunging forward but I'm held back by the blue mech behind me.

"You're helping us bring about a better world, Nightbeat; a simple toy has no worth in comparison to that." His chuckling ceases when he looks down at the crushed bits to find—nothing. He must have been expecting something to be hidden inside the toy. "Hn…" He prods the broken pieces around in his servo, but still looks dissatisfied, "This is… this should have been it! Soundwave, he must be hiding it somewhere in his inaccessible files! I know he left it with the child!"

The derailed mech looks as though he's about to leap across the table to attack his minion, but the now fearful telepath is only able to hold his servos up to indicate he can do no more. The moment Soundwave raises his servos, I'm bolting off the table and headed for the tall double doors at the other end of the dark, hall-like room. I should've known better, as the enraged Gladiator lord turns on me and latches his servo roughly onto my processor, lifting me off my pedes and bringing me face-to-face with him.

**"WHERE IS THE TRANSFORMATION COG TO TRYPTICON STATION?"**


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: We're getting very close to the end here, guys, and I just have to thank you all for sticking with me for so long. Even though the first few chapters were ridden with grammar and tense errors (which have all been corrected, btw :D), so many of you still stuck with me. As I told you all in the first chapter, this is my first fic, and it's been an amazing experience for me ^_^ Thank you to all of you wonderful readers and reviewers! *cue dramatic music and tearful handkerchief waving*

To Vivienne Grainger: Indeed, Nightbeat doesn't have the faintest clue as to just how powerful Trypticon—or having access to its full potential—is. Thank you for your comments! ^_^

To SEZwho94: *rolls around happily* Thank you for the praise! ^_^ I've been putting Nightbeat through a lot, and I'm glad that his ways of dealing with it is coming across as believable ^_^

Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

A flash of white darts through the crowded streets of Kaon, catching the hungry optics of grungy bots searching for an easy victim. A nimble femme tails the white figure, desperately trying to grab a hold of it.

"Prowl! Primus, Prowl, wait!" Roulette finally latches her servo around his wrist and spins him around into an alleyway. She presses his back to a wall and checks over her shoulders to make sure they're alone in the alley. Catching her intakes, the Enforcer femme glares harshly at her captive, "Are you insane? You realize you stick out like a sore servo around here, right?"

Caught up in a twisting wave of hysteria, the young mech is unable to keep his pedes still as he tries moving around the femme, "I don't care, Roulette! Minerva is probably in more danger! I shouldn't have left her alone—I should've stayed with her! She's gone to Kolkular, I know she has. She's going to get herself killed and it's my fault!"

"**No**, Prowl, it is not your fault." Roulette holds a firm gaze with the strained mech. "If she has gone to Kolkular, it was by her own will. I doubt we would've been able to have stopped her even if we caught her in the act. What we need to do now… is plan."

"There's no time!" Prowl tries to push away from the femme's hold. "If you're not going to help me, you should go back to the station—shouldn't you be guarding your sister?"

"Listen to yourself, Prowl! This isn't like you!" the femme shouts as she shoves him back against the wall. "You're worried for her, Prowl, I get that—so am I! But we can't just rush into this. We'll end up offline if we do, and we won't help anyone. Listen," she steps back and reaches for her processor to open a comlink, "I'll get a hold of as many Enforcers as I can, and we'll make a plan. We're gonna need backup. As for my sister… I've yet to find a cell that can hold her anyways."

Suddenly, Prowl's own comlink pings, snapping him out of his crazed state, "Hello?" Roulette looks up to Prowl, curious. After a moment, Prowl also has a look of question on his faceplates, "That's… strange. It was only static."

Roulette doesn't like that one bit. "You ever run scans on your comlinks before you receive them?" She observes the mech as his mouth opens and then shuts without a sound, "Don't they teach you how to stay out of the Grid anymore? You could have someone tracing you this very moment, you know."

"She's right, Prowl. Ya gotta be more careful, like ah'm always tellin' ya."

"Please, Jazz, I don't need your input." Prowl freezes. Roulette jolts and a yelp escapes her vocal processor.

"Oh, but don'cha?" Jazz leans on his friend's shoulder. He looks the femme Enforcer up and down and whispers into Prowl's audio receptor, "She's cute."

* * *

Mirage walks alongside his new companion, gazing up curiously at the bot as he is lead along by the servo.

The bot looks down and notices the stare and smiles, "You look like you've got a question."

"Are you Nightbeat's mommy?"

The femme stops short for a moment, a look of surprise evident in her optics, "I—yes, yes I am. You know Nightbeat?"

Mirage smiles, feeling the first sense of safety and relief that he's experienced in a while, "You look a lot like him, an' your accent is like his, too. He's my friend—my best friend." Growing shy, the sparkling looks down at his pedes.

Minerva feels a warm tingle touch her tired spark; so Nightbeat's made a close friend. Sure, her son has his share of 'allies' and gets along quite well with Siren, but he's too young for Nightbeat to take on his adventures. For the most part he's always been a loner. Just like his mom.

Bringing herself out of her thoughts, Minerva kneels down to be more level with the youngling and smiles warmly, "My name is Minerva, what's yours?"

Mirage returns the smile and holds his servo out. The mother giggles and accepts the servo, and is furthermore tickled when the Towers sparkling kisses hers. "My name is Mirage, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Minerva."

"Well aren't you just the sweetest gentlemech, Mirage. The pleasure's all mine." Standing once more, she holds the sparkling's servo as they move through the dark halls of Kolkular. For the past twenty breems, the two have been avoiding the alerted Gladiators who have been searching the corridors of the base high and low. Minerva assumes that the black Cybertronian she scared off earlier must have alerted them to their presence.

"Mirage, do you know where Nightbeat is?" Minerva asks, trying to keep her anxiety at a minimum.

"I—I saw where they took him. They took him to see the big mech, in the room with the double doors. It's in the lower levels. I'm not sure how to get back there, though."

"Alright, well that's a start." Minerva isn't worried. She can feel something tugging on her spark, ever so gently. She knows who it is that's tugging.

"Are we going to find Nightbeat?"

"Yes, sweetie. We most certainly are. How did you get here, Mirage?"

"I followed the bots that took him from Iacon—I got onto their helicopter. Then I met an Enforcer. Then I ran away. An' I got caught, an' I got brought here. An' I got away from the mechs that caught me. Then I found Nightbeat, but the mechs took him away."

Minerva is momentarily stunned by the thought of a sparkling taking such a dangerous journey alone, but then remembers that her son is much the same way. "That's… that's quite brave of you, but what about your creators? Don't you think they'll be worried?"

"Um…" Mirage's optics shift to the walls of the hallway, "Well, they're actually at a racing event right now. They don't know I'm gone."

Trying not to show her horror at this statement, Minerva questions, "Well, who's been watching you while your creators have been away?"

"Nobot. I take care of myself."

Minerva struggles to wrap her processor around this. However, is it really such a foreign concept? Isn't it the same thing that Nightbeat has been going through ever since his father offlined? She works during the solar cycle, she works during the recharge cycle—when does Nightbeat get any of her time? Who's been watching him while _his_ creators have been away?

The troubled mother stops in her tracks when she feels the solid floor beneath her shake. What was that? Suddenly, a second, more powerful quake tears through the hallways the femme and sparkling are in, dropping both off of their balance. Mirage screams as chunks of the wall begin crumbling and toppling around them. Scooping him up, Minerva bolts down the hall, avoiding the falling pieces until she reaches the end and enters a large factory section of the base.

The two Iacon-native bots are instantly assaulted by a gust of immense heat radiating from a large bath of yellow acid—the Smelting Pool. Massive, metal containers raised by hooks are carried over the pool by a conveyor belt, bearing loads of molten elements. A series of ladders, bridges, and ramps crisscross over the open pool, granting a somewhat safe passage from one side of it to the other. Rows of conveyor belts bearing empty containers hover above, waiting to be transferred to other compartments of the factory for reuse.

The entire space of the factory is cast in a deep, reddish-yellow glow, amplifying the awareness of the heat of the Smelting Pool. Minerva holds Mirage close as her optics search for another door to get out of this place and back onto the trail of finding Nightbeat. Her options, however, become zero when she finds the source of the thunderous trembles that had destroyed the hallway they had come from.

A dark femme stands atop the railing of one of the bridges passing over the Smelting Pool. Atop each of her shoulders, she bears large ion cannons with smoking barrels. A layout of destroyed bridges and dangling pieces of the base's foundation accompanied by shredded mech chassis tell Minerva clearly what has happened. Before she can take Mirage and run back into the safe depths of the base's hallways, the weaponized femme catches sight of her.

"Mirage, run." Holding optic-contact with the dark femme, Minerva gives the sparkling a gentle push.

"But, Miss Minerva—"

"Run, Mirage." She plants her pedes firmly onto the ground, facing the root of her worst fears—the one who made her child disappear.

Looking between Nightbeat's mother and the other femme, Mirage feels that he has no say in this. Activating his cloaking device, he makes a run for a door at the far end of the factory, "I'll find Nightbeat!"

Thankful that the child didn't argue with her—as she knows Nightbeat would have—she turns her full attention to the other femme.

Silhouette smirks and tosses the two overheated ion canons into the Smelting Pool below. Stepping down from the railing and onto the bridge, she matches Minerva's firm stance. She speaks with a nonchalant tone, "I still owe you for those cheap shots you took at me earlier."

Minerva doesn't return the smile or tone, "Round two, bitch."

* * *

"What in the name of the Pit was that?" Megatron growls in a vexed tone.

Barricade steps forward from the shadows that had been successfully obscuring his presence from notice and chimes in, "Sounds like we've got some company. No idea who could be knocking this late in the recharge cycle, though."

"I don't care. Just take care of it. Soundwave, alert Brawl if he is not already aware of our guests."

Whatever those explosions were, they sounded like they were pretty close. I hope Mirage is okay. Maybe he's called in the cavalry?

As both of Megatron's loyal minions leave and shut the double doors of the throne room behind them, I realize with great discomfort that I'm now alone with the fearful Gladiator Champion; and he still has a vice-grip on my processor. He thinks I have some kind of subconscious knowledge on the whereabouts of the transformation cog of this 'Trypticon Station', whatever that is. My mind is still spilling over with doubts and confusion; did my dad really share ideals with Megatron?

I suppose his beliefs are pretty straightforward; the poor are poorly treated while the rich are treated to luxury. He thinks the caste system is enslaving us all and that it's turning Cybertron's progression into a backwards fall into decay. The higher-ups are too high up and the lower are evolving into a mass of mindless drones. Sure, I feel the same way in a few of those matters, and I wouldn't be surprised if my dad had as well. However, when it comes to how to bring about change?

This mech is insane. He's taking the most extreme, most destructive route, and I wouldn't be surprised if his 'ideal vision' involved him being the ultimate ruler of the universe, above even the will of Primus.

I'm unwillingly taken along as Megatron paces back and forth in contemplation, still carrying me by my processor. My neck cables are going to be sore after all of this mistreatment. First, I get whiplash from falling the length of a tower in the grip of that empty-in-the-processor Brawl, now this. Don't grown-ups know you're supposed to be _gentle_ with sparklings? I guess these Gladiators missed that memo.

Apparently while I was in my own thoughts, Megatron had been boiling over in his, as he suddenly releases a furious howl and throws me through the air—sending me landing in the seat of his throne; with another case of whiplash, might I add. I watch with nervous optics as the mech grumbles incomprehensive slurs of grunts and mumbled words. Finally, he stops his maniacal back and forth movements and comes to a still, his optics laid upon me.

Primus, he's a scary-aft mech.

"You'll have to excuse my outbursts, Nightbeat…"

Hah. He's gonna try to be Mr. Nice Mech again? 'Outbursts', yeah, we'll call it that.

"…I am merely displeased that after all the work he did in his good intentions, your father's offlining was in vain." The Gladiator lord comes forward to the throne and lowers himself to be level with my optics.

Don't go there. Don't you dare.

"Don't you see, Nightbeat? We can both help one another. We both want the same thing, can't you understand that? You've been blinded by the very society that destroyed your father, the same that brought about his _untimely_ demise. Don't you want to avenge your father? Don't you feel a sense of duty to him as his son?"

I refuse to be afraid of this mech; I stare him straight in the optics while angry pools of energon well up in my own. I hope he can see the hatred in my optics. I hope he can _feel_ the burn of it.

He must see something, because a pleased smile slowly spreads across his lip components, "You've the optics of a warrior, Nightbeat, worthy of a Decepticon title. Why do you deny yourself a fitting place in the coming future? I can see in you a loyal warrior that will bring glory to the Decepticons. I offer you a place by my side. It is your duty to continue your father's work, to join me and bring victory to us."

I'm scared. I don't know what to do. A heavy tear hot with all the violent thoughts I feel searing through my processor falls down my cheek, leaving an angry streak in its wake. I feel like so much is slipping away from me, out of my control. I feel like I'm being swallowed alive.

There was once a time when I thought I was in control. I wandered the streets of Sector Capri, feeling so free and knowing that nothing could touch me. Even in the darkest joors of the recharge cycle, when dangerous mechs filled with high-grade shared the same street as I, I knew that they had no control over me. I knew I could out-think them. I was too smart. I was too fast.

I was untouchable.

Have I lost what I was? Did I ever really have it to begin with? Was I ever really in control? Am I only a sparkling, a weak child to be taken over so completely and so easily? Don't I have a choice?

Sensing my struggle, Megatron lifts one of his heavy servos, but this time I don't flinch. He tenderly wipes away the dirty energon smudging my features with his thumb digit. My dad used to do that whenever I was upset. But this mech is not my dad. He never will be. My true creator, he was my dad. The Emirate, he was also my dad. But this mech, this wretched monster that means to devour me, he's no father of mine.

"Nightbeat. I offer you a new world, a world where you won't ever need to question who or what you are. I will protect you, Nightbeat, but you must trust in my will in order to be safe."

Don't I have a choice?


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: Hey all! Just soz ya knowz I've got my drawing of Nightbeat and the Emirate colored in, please have a look-see! ^_^ the link to my DA page can be found on my profile. This has been really fun, writing this story has become a huge part of my daily routine X) it's gonna feel weird when it's finished! But fear not… :D

To SEZwho94: lol, wait, what cookies? XD somebody lied about cookies? O_o that is a terrible crime that is to be punished by—not getting any cookies! X) I'm glad Nightbeat's confirmation of the Emirate being like a father to him made you happy, I felt the same way after writing it ^_^ Thank you for ya comment!

To Vivienne Grainger: Pun = Fun! XD Nightbeat's been a real blast writing for, I wish I could be as quick-thinking and brave as him ^_^ Thank you for your comment!

Thank you to all my wonderful readers and reviewers! Please Read and Enjoy! ^_^

* * *

"Alright, Prowl, gimme a run-down of our situation here." A gruff voice speaks coolly from the shadows, its owner's chassis lightly illuminated by the stars of the late recharge cycle. Alpha Centauri is due to rise soon.

Prowl keeps himself steady aboard the Cybertronian helicopter known as Blades and begins, "We have two Iaconian citizens within a structure known as Kolkular; previous reports reveal this to be the base of operations of a rising revolutionary faction known as the Decepticons. These Decepticons are previous miners and are also heavily involved in the illegal Gladiatorial tournaments that have been stretching throughout the mid and Southern hemisphere of Cybertron-"

"Yeah, I've read those reports. They cost a good mech his life. What can you tell me about the two citizens? Sentinel Major was all but informative, told me you'd give fill me in."

Prowl has to pause at this; Jazz and his class didn't come on their own? "Sentinel… Major sent you?"

"That's right, kid. He wanted me to give you a message, but I think he oughta say it himself." A tall, aged mech steps forward into the star-cast light. A scarred chassis tells tales of the struggle he's endured, while burning optics tell of all he's seen. "I know we're lookin' for a kid from Sector D-12, possibly one from the High Tower Pavillions, too."

"A child from the Towers? I've not heard of this. The two bots that I know of are Nightbeat—the child from Sector Capri—and his mother, Minerva. I'm afraid I don't know anything about the second child you're referring to." A look of worry taints Prowl's optics; how many innocents are involved here?

Jazz leans back in the co-pilot seat of the helicopter and speaks over his shoulder to his comrade, "A lot's happened since you been gone the past few cycles, Prowl. A kid was reported missin' from the Towers, happened to be on the same cycle Kaon's Emirate made his flashy exit with yer Capri kid. We got evidence that further links the two kids, also."

"Hold up a klik," the gruff-voiced mech raises his servo to stop the conversation.

"What is it, Kup?"

"Prowl, you said 'Minerva'? Ain't she the sparkmate of –"

Prowl interrupts, a sting coursing through his spark; he doesn't want to hear the designation of his fallen comrade, "Yes, our detective from Sector Capri, the one that wrote those reports that would have helped us see this all coming had we listened. And Nightbeat is his only child." Prowl's spark skips a beat when he feels a slender servo sneak its way around his for a brief moment before slipping away again. He turns and meets Roulette's optics.

A new tint of raw aggression surfaces on Kup's features; these low-life Kaon thugs chose the wrong family to mess with. He remembers meeting Minerva at her sparkmate's memorial service, and now that he thinks about it, there was indeed a very small, very quiet sparkling with her. Kup chomps on his lower lip component. This is a disgrace. The fact that the sparkmate of a fallen comrade had to go through so much trouble trying to get help from the Enforcer Department when her child was missing; and now it's come to this.

If only Kup had known. He would have helped her the moment she walked in through his door. This whole fiasco could have been put to an end back in Iacon, but now both she and her child are lost somewhere in a pit like Kaon. If she hadn't known Prowl…she probably would have never received any help at all.

"Springer."

"Kup?" A young, broad-shouldered mech with green plating and a mean snarl nods to his mentor.

"It's time to get out the big guns."

* * *

"The time to decide is now, Nightbeat."

I wish I had Mirage's ability right now. I wish I could just disappear and get away from those red optics; they're suffocating.

Wait. No, this isn't me. I'm not afraid of anything.

I'm too smart. I'm too fast! They can't touch me! I'm from Sector Capri!

"No." My vocalizer is firm, just as my resolution. I meet Megatron's optics steadily as though he were just an ordinary mech.

Primus, it felt good saying that.

A twitch plays across the faceplates of the Gladiator Champion. "'No'… what?"

He needs me to spell it out for him? Fine. It'll be my fraggin' pleasure.

"What, taken too many hits to the processor? I said **NO!**" I stand up on the throne, and to my content the large, murderous mech knelt before me draws himself back a little. "I don't believe a word you've said! I don't care if I was too young when **you** killed my dad, I know him well enough because I know who **I **am! You're nothing but a big, fat, **ugly** liar! So you can take your little femme's club and-"

As I was expecting, my little rant doesn't live its full course. I'm seized by my neck and smashed into the backing of the metal throne by a large, heated servo. I'm probably going to die, as I probably would have no matter what choice I made, but at least I got to stand up to my dad's killer. And while I'm at it—

A large wad of spit smacks right between Megatron's livid optics—I never miss my target. A shrill scream leaves my vocalizer as the servo gripping me tightens to the point that I can hear metal plating splitting beneath the pressure. The dark lord releases a feral roar in frustration.

"Then you choose to join your father! And just for that, your mother will be right beside you!"

"No!" I kick and I scratch and I punch and I tear at the servo and arm of the mech holding me down.

"Your resistance is pointless! I gave you the option to live under my command as an act of mercy! You think I need you alive? I'll just have Soundwave dissect your offlined processor till I find what I'm looking for! All you've done has been in vain! Truly, you are your father's son!"

All of my anger, all of my sadness for what I've lost, all of my hatred, all of my love for the Emirate and my father suddenly intertwine and a most curious thing happens: the two antennae on the sides of my processor rotate until the tips are facing forward—aimed right at the face of my enemy. Before I know what's happening, a highly concentrated beam of light is released from both antennae, blinding the mech in front of me.

I suppose part of growing up is learning what your chassis can do—and it would seem that I have two Photon Pistols smacked onto the sides of my processor! Although not lethal, photon weapons serve to blind enemies, which would also explain why I was created with a visor shielding my optics. Unfortunately, thanks to Wilder, that visor is currently missing and I too receive the full front of my own weapons.

Almost simultaneously, both Megatron and I scream at the pain of having our optics impaired by the powerful flash. The moment I feel the mech's grip loosen on me, however, I leap off of the throne; only to land flat on my faceplates. Deciding that standing may not be the wisest option with my vision gone and my equilibrium thrown off, I begin crawling as fast as I can, hoping to reach a wall to go alongside until I can find a door.

I'm assuming Megatron is having the same problems I am, as all I can hear from his direction is metal scraping against the floor along with some infuriated grunts and nasty words mom told me never to use until I'm older. The Gladiator throws a threat out towards me,

"**I'm going to tear your spark out!**"

That's nice. I keep crawling.

I feel a rush of anxiety twist my internals when I hear the crazed mech activate a comlink and yells, "Wilder! Come to me, immediately!"

Time to crawl faster.

"Nightbeat!"

I know that voice, "Mirage! I can't see!"

"Eh?" I hear a high-pitch, rising sound emit from Megatron's direction. He's charging something. "You! You're the sparkling I found wandering my hallways, aren't you? Come here, at once!"

"Don't say anything, Mirage! He'll know where you are—he can't see either!"

"Well you're talking too! Listen to your own advice!" Mirage quickly makes his way to my location.

He's got a good point. However, since neither one of us listened to my 'words of wisdom', Megatron now knows where we both are. I hear the charging sound come to a climax, followed by a loud blast radiating from the source. I feel a massive wave of heat as a cannon blast of some kind just barely misses where Mirage and I are. Lucky break, Megatron's equilibrium must also have been thrown off by my Photon Pistols.

I feel Mirage grip my shoulders and pull me up onto my pedes. "C'mon, Nightbeat, we've got to get out of here! Your mother—"

"Shh, Mirage! You're giving away our location!" I whisper, but then raise my vocalizer when I realize what he last said, "Wait, **my mom?** **Where is**—"

"Shh yourself!" Mirage leads me out of the throne room just as a second cannon blast from Megatron takes out one of the double doors. I feel a flood of excitement and relief—my mom is here! But wait, what if she's in trouble?

Before I can further question Mirage, he suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, leading me to run into his back. "Mirage, what is it?" My answer comes when a sharp object suddenly cuts across my cheek, and I'm willing to bet that it would have been my throat that got cut if Mirage had not pulled me down at that exact instant.

"I've been waiting for this, you little piece of trash!" It sounds like—Wilder! If I wasn't blind…

I'm forced to get my pedes moving once more when Mirage abruptly tugs me in the opposite direction. I can hear Wilder's pede steps close behind as we make a sharp turn and begin going up a set of stairs—stairs that I wasn't expecting.

"Ah—sorry, Nightbeat! Stairs!" Mirage helps me up after I trip on the first step and we continue our way up the winding stairwell. Coming out of the stairwell, the sudden cold breeze sweeping across my chassis along with the distant echoes of our pede steps tells me that we've entered some kind of warehouse-like space.

An unexpected cry of terror from Mirage tells me that something very unpleasant is meeting us as we enter, and once more I'm pulled down onto the ground. Just as I hear Wilder coming out of the stairwell behind us, a loud explosion erupts from a few paces ahead of us, and I hear Wilder scream out and it sounds like he's struck by a blast.

"Oh, frag! Sorry, Wilder!" That disgusting voice—it's Brawl!

For once, I actually feel like thanking that stupid oaf. The feeling quickly passes as I'm pulled to my pedes again and led further into the warehouse by Mirage. My vision is returning slowly, but at the moment I can only make out large masses of blurred color—one of which is right behind us!

"Megatron won't save your sorry little skidplate this time!" Brawl yells with the excitement of yet another chase quite evident in his tone.

Ugh, he's so cliché. Looking back, I see the lumbering tank-former suddenly leap towards us as we pass through a dense maze of crates; a tactic of his that I really ought to be used to by now. The shock factor of it, however, still works on me and in my impulsive surprise I push Mirage to safety down another path carved out of the rows of crates and continue on forward, just barely escaping Brawl's reach. I hear a round of protests from the direction I sent Mirage, but continue on forward, stumbling half-blindly through the obstacles and machinery.

Unable to bring myself to my top momentum in my unbalanced state, Brawl is able to quickly catch up to me. I yelp as he plucks me off my pedes by my wrist and pulls me back to dangle me before his ugly optic in victory. "Yer not gonna get away this time! I'm gonna get rid of you once and for all, and once you're gone, I'm gonna have the best recharge of my life!"

What, have I been giving him bad lines of code in his recharge? Deciding that I have better things to do than once more fall prey to this idiot, I take the smart precaution of offlining my optics before activating my Photon Pistols.

Brawl yells out more in hysteria than in pain, "My—my optic! My only optic!" I'm released and I land straight on my aftplate, but I don't stick around long enough to complain. With my vision clearing up more rapidly, I'm able to make a run for a nearby door without tripping over myself. Looking over my shoulder, it looks like Brawl will be off my case for a good while as he stumbles about in a maniacal frenzy.

Reaching the door, I turn to call out to my friend, "Mirage! Mirage, over—" A sudden impact to the back of my chassis cuts me off and I'm sent plummeting onto the floor with something heavy atop me. Turning my processor, I'm met by the sight of a very angry sparkling whose chassis has been seared to a crisp by a misdirected tank shell.

"Megatron wants you brought back alive; I can't imagine why the Pit he would so wish it. But I'm not gonna listen to him." The end of an ion blaster is set against my processor, the sound of it charging entering directly into my audio receptor. I offline my optics.

"You **Fragger**!" To my utter surprise—it was Mirage who just yelled that. Mr. Fancy, polite and quite Mirage. It is also Mirage who tackles Wilder off of me, sending all three of us rolling across the ground.

Pulling myself up quickly, I ram my chassis into Wilder when I see him crawling towards his dropped weapon. I'm the first to recover and straddle him around his waist, effectively pinning him down. Taking a tooth for a tooth, I dig my servo digits under his visor and pull with all my might until it pops out of its sockets, anteing up the score and earning a sharp cry of pain.

The fury and pain that's been welling up in me is released in a flurry of punches that I land all over the chassis beneath me. A strange veil of blackness begins encircling the edges of my vision—I'm completely loosing it on this kid. Eventually I can't even feel my balled servos meeting his faceplates as I continue my attack. I'm not in control anymore. Am I gonna end up killing this kid?

Something tells me that I haven't even fazed him. He did, after all, take a tank shell incredibly well and is still in one piece. I don't care though. I'm partially pulled out of my blacked-out rage when a tiny pair of blue servos suddenly pulls me back by my shoulders.

"Nightbeat, s-stop!" Mirage is clearly distressed by my violent display, but his words hardly reach me. I then notice that he's holding Wilder's ion blaster.

"Give me that, Mirage! Give me the gun!" I jab my servo towards him, demanding for the weapon. What am I saying? Am I actually going to shoot him?

…Shouldn't I? He killed the Emirate—not only was he like a second father to me, but he was Wilder's real one! Doesn't he deserve to die? Wouldn't that be the right thing to do? No, no I can't, that's not me. That's not what I am. That's not what my father was. I'm not a killer. I won't do it.

I'm brought out of my thoughts when I hear a soft hiccup in Mirage's vocalizer—he's crying. He's crying and he's gripping the weapon to his chassis as tightly as he can in order to keep it away from me. He wouldn't let me do it even if I really wanted to. "Mirage—"

At that moment, I look beyond Mirage and see Brawl in his tank form with his barrel pointed straight at us! I leap forward and bring Mirage down with me onto the floor just as Wilder is sitting up. I turn my processor just in time to see Wilder over us with an Energon dagger, but for a second time he's sent flying by a misguided tank shell and goes through a wall.

"AGH! _FRAG!_" Brawl slightly rocks back and forth on his tank treads, "Sorry again, Wilder! But don't worry, I'll get these two for ya!"

I pull Mirage up and together we run through the doorway. We're both blasted by a wave of heat as we enter the next open area—it looks like a factory, with large, metal containers being transported through the air via a conveyor belt with hanging hooks by which the containers are attached. The walls and eerie metal frames of bridges and ladders are cast in a deep reddish-yellow glow. Looking down over the edge of the overpass Mirage and I are on, I see an enormous bath of yellow molten. I know what this is. I've seen it in the datapads Prowl gave me.

The Smelting Pool.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Hello hello everyone, I know I picked the worst week to be a slow poster, what with this being the last 2 or 3 chapters we're gettin' onto an what-not XD *cries a little…* I blame the art side of my brain, it wanted to draw and thus I had a bit of a writer's block, but more pics on my art profile! This chapter has a bit of a dark edge to it, one that I wasn't expecting to produce O_o but I'll be curious to know what ya think X)

To SEZwho94: Thank you, it's always good to know when the reader really feels what I'm puttin' down X) haha and yesh with his Photon Pistols right on the side of his head (which he's never actually used in any of the comics, but they are legit and there :D) I thought it gave his visor a practical use rather than just a social one ^_^ Thankya for your comments!

To Vivienne Grainger: I'm glad I've accomplished my goal to entertain and bring excitement! X) I'll be very curious to know what you think of what happens to one of the characters near the end of this chapter… :D Thank you for your comments!

To all my amazing readers and reviewers, Thank You! Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

"Run, Mirage! Go!" I pull Wilder's gun out of Mirage's servos and shove him to run in the opposite direction I plan on going. Deciding not to argue, Mirage does what I tell him to and activates his cloaking device in the process.

Good. Now he won't get in the way.

I turn away and with high voltage coursing through my energon lines I bolt down the overpass in the hot factory. I can feel the paint on my chassis begin to streak due to the intense heat as I reach a ladder and begin climbing it; higher ground is always an advantage in battle. Following his own usual strategy, Brawl bashes his large chassis through the frame of the doorway Mirage and I had come through moments earlier. His processor sharply turns in every direction, searching for me, I assume. He finally catches a glimpse of me as I begin running along one of the grated bridges high over his location.

I've always done alright with heights, but running on a bridge with cheap railings and acid-burnt holes—over the Smelting Pool? Where one slip could spell a slow, melting demise? I'm not feeling so good about it. What's worse and just adds to the fun is that I have no idea what I'm planning on doing, I just know that I have to get myself to a place where Brawl won't be able to reach me right away. I guess I'm just buying myself time up here.

"Go ahead and run, ya little runt! Ain't no place you can go that I can't just blast you outta!" Brawl howls, his vocalizer spilling over with mirth.

I'm nearly sent over the side of the unstable bridge overlooking the yellow acid bath below when heavy tremors rock the metal structure. Frantically wrapping my arms around the weak railing, I prevent an early ending and try to slow my sharp intakes and look back. As if he hasn't proved he's dumb in other instances, Brawl further pushes this point as he climbs the ladder I had gone up, bending its frame beneath his mammoth weight and sending reverberations through a large radius of the surrounding metal structures.

As the behemoth Cybertronian comes onto the adjoining platform and approaches the bridge I'm on, I find that my pedes won't move. A strange daze overrides my neural circuitry; it must be the heat. With half-shuttered optics, I first watch the massive form bent on my destruction as he slowly takes his first step onto the bridge. Shifting my gaze, I look down and my optical sensors are consumed by the bright light emitting from the Smelting Pool.

The glow of the Smelting Pool is a strange one indeed. I wouldn't be surprised if those who used to work long joors in this factory suffered from burnt out circuitry—if they went completely psychotic. Many stories and myths have come from this place, each giving a warning; I remember hearing one from a school teacher about how sparklings that ditched class would be stolen away and eaten by the Smelting Monster. Now that I'm here, separated from that monster my teacher told me about by a measly plank of holed metal… I wish I'd not ditched class.

Despite the daunting place I find myself at, this is still strange. I'm not the type to freeze up in a situation like this. If anything, I should be moving faster than I normally could. Brawl is beginning to chuckle, though perhaps 'chuckle' isn't the right term for the deep gurgling sounds that seem to match the glint in his ugly optic. I have to move, I can't just stand here! Why can't I move?

I strain my chassis to start running, but then I discover the real reason for my immobility: the paint on my frame has melted onto the floor of the bridge and has hardened, effectively gluing my pedes down. Slag! I look back at Brawl, and surprisingly he's taking care as he gingerly walks across the bridge, always keeping his sights on me.

"You're not gettin' away this time, punk. I'll bring this whole fraggin' place down if that's what it takes to get rid of you!" Losing his sense of caution, Brawl begins taking heavier, more excited pede steps. His chassis is hunched over in a predatory stance with his servos raised in a greedy reach towards me.

Alright, think. What tools do I have at my disposal? I have an ion blaster, I have a failing metal bridge, and I have a Smelting Pool. Could I perhaps shoot my pedes free? Probably not without shooting their tips off. Could I shoot Brawl? That would probably make him even angrier, thus assuring an even more painful offlining. Maybe there's a factor I've not found? One that could bring together the perfect formula for escaping this homicidal maniac?

'Bring this whole fraggin' place down'… why bring it _all_ down?

That's when I look up. High, hanging from hooks in an assembly-line fashion, there are several large, presumably heavy, metal containers; perhaps they're used to transport scrap to the Smelting Pool. This whole factory looks like it's about to fall apart with its rusty compartments just hardly hanging on by the seams. Surely it would only take one precise shot to a weak spot on one of those hooks to bring down the rain. And by rain, I mean a big piece of metal.

I calculate the place where one of the containers would drop onto the bridge if I were to shoot it; next, I calculate exactly when I'll need to pull the trigger in relation to where Brawl is standing—oh slag! _Now!_

I raise my weapon and hold my intakes and imagine that I'm _pushing_ the bullet to where I want it to go—just like Dad taught me. I pull the trigger. Time seems to slow down as I can actually see the line of the projectile's path in a hot-white line of fire. A violent spark cracks into life at the place of impact: right where I was aiming. Brawl doesn't even have time to look up as the hook simultaneously gives and the massive pot-like container—which happens to also be filled with molten scrap, that's a bonus—comes plummeting down and lands right on him. The mech can't even make a peep as he's taken out along with a chunk of the bridge.

My pedes choose the worse time to come unstuck as the bridge bends and dips with the force of the collision, putting the divided bridge pieces at a vertical angle to the acidic pool below. I release the gun in my servos without a second thought and force my digits through the grated surface of the bridge. Dangling over the Smelting Monster, I turn my processor to watch over my shoulder as the Kaonian Gladiator designated Brawl descends into its depths.

The sight is like nothing I've ever witnessed: rather than sinking instantly, the huge mech actually seems to 'splat' onto the surface, then slowly begins to sink into the thick substance as he flails his appendages about in an effort to gain leverage on the deceptively thick matter. His frantic movements whip up mesmerizing strings of the molten liquid, creating an almost graceful scene. His trying, however, is in vain.

Just before his processor goes under, he looks up at me. "Don't you think this is the end! I'll find you! I'll never stop until you're scrap! You'll find no peace! You'll find no—"

Gone. That last bit actually sounded too poetic to have come from his vocalizer. Wow, I just watched a mech go offline and I'm makin' wise cracks? 'Guess that's what you gotta do to move on.

I'm brought out of my musings when I feel the platform I'm hanging from begin to strain under the pressure of my weight. Time to climb—fast. I dig my servo digits into the bridge and pull myself upward with the last bit of my energy. The bridge feels like it's hardly hanging on by a thread of metal. It whines in protest to my movements until finally—it breaks free of its bondage and falls to join the rest of the scrap in the Smelting Pool. Luckily, I made it just in time.

I lie on my back on the warm surface of another metal platform. It's awfully quiet. I don't like that. Quiet is bad. What's worse, my chassis feels like it's finally reached its limit. I can't even recall the last time I refueled, or perhaps I don't want to recall since it was in an elegant home with a mech who loved me very much.

I take what seems like a series of micro-recharge cycles, fading in and out of awareness. I open my optics once more and find that I'm lying in a pool of red. I lift my processor slightly with a look of puzzle; it looks like some kind of organic fluid. I look down at my chassis, and find that it's my paint. There is also a mix of white, blue, and yellow gathering in the puddle. I'm a mess. Strange as it is, my true colors seem to be holding up under this heat better than my new ones. And Kaonians think they're so special with their 'tough stuff' paint jobs.

Wait, where's Mirage?

"Mirage!" I call out, but receive no reply. I'm so weak, but I muster up the strength to yell one more time, "Miraaaaaaage!" That's it. I'm done. I've no more strength left. Used to be I could go on one cube of energon for a deca-cycle, but it seems my time in the high society has spoiled my systems. Another reminder of all that's happened that will surely stay with me for a good, long while.

I can't give up, not now. Didn't Mirage say my mom was here? How can a place like this be so quiet? Falling to the point of desperation, I begin partially crawling and partially dragging myself across the platform, down a ramp, and across another platform; all the while leaving a trail of colors behind. As I drag myself, I hear the lightest tap of metal against metal behind me and I sense a shift of weight on the platform. Before I can turn around to look, a sharp pede lands flat on my back and presses me down, forcing the air from my intakes.

"A scrapper, indeed," comes a cool statement, "but not for long, little fighter, not for long." The voice belongs to Barricade; he must have just come into the factory. What if he hurt my mother?

Suddenly, a low, muffled tremble enters the factory. A beating sound slowly comes into focus—it sounds like a helicopter outside. Barricade calmly raises his processor to look up at the ceiling, almost expectantly, "Well, kid, guess someone cares about a poor, nobody piece of scrap like you." I offer no resistance—I'm unable to— as I'm scooped up into the mech's arms, "Means you'll make a nice trade-off should I need it."

At that very moment, the ceiling of the Smelting Pool factory is blown apart, releasing the warm air within into the cold winds of the early solar-cycle outside. I see the sky. I haven't seen it for a while. It's refreshing. More refreshing, a huge helicopter hovers over the opening, and a number of ropes are dropped from its open side doors. A team of impressive looking mechs—armed with impressive looking weapons—slide down the ropes at break-neck speeds; these bots are Special Ops.

Wait, I know one of those mechs! "Prowl! Proooowl!" A rough servo cups over my mouth and I'm rushed away.

I push the mech's servo away and try to yell again as I'm taken further into the heart of the factory, but my weak vocalizer produces only static. But I'm not losing hope. He sees me. He knows I'm here. Somebot knows where I am, after all this time.

I've been found!

Barricade activates his comlink as he sprints through the winding bridges and ramps over the Smelting Pool, "Soundwave, send in some back-up, will ya?"

* * *

Minerva wipes the energon staining from her busted lip component. This Kaon femme is good, but she's not _that_ good. She brings herself back up onto her pedes and stands sideways to her opponent.

"You're not taking my son, femme." Silhouette hisses. She herself has quite the collection of gashes and dents across her faceplates and chassis. If one were to write up a tally at this moment, Minerva would be in the lead of who's done the most damage.

"I'm only taking back what's mine, what you stole from me." Minerva begins walking to one side as Silhouette walks to the other," So are you really insane or is this just one of your criminal ploys? " She locks optics with the other femme.

"You're not going to be around long enough to care much." Silhouette suddenly throws a curved energon blade towards the Sector Capri mother from her good (and only) servo. The other femme ducks, but Silhouette planned for this. Bounding forward, the dark Kaonian femme brings her serrated pede upwards, meeting Minerva's chin with it.

Minerva is sent reeling backwards onto a main control panel in the Generator/Control Room of Kolkular, creating a lightshow of sparks and busting fuses as her chassis crushes the delicate surface. This fight has been a non-stop flurry of wit and speed, of determination and power. How the two femmes made it from the blistering bridges of the Smelting Pool to the sub-zero, highly polished floors of this Control Room, neither can recall. Neither really cares, either.

The clash, however, pauses for a moment when a chain reaction occurs from Minerva's contact with the control panel. A bright screen lights up the cool-hued room, depicting various scenes of the compartments of Kolkular. As if a sixth sense drew them to it, both femmes' optics turn to a single screen in the lower-left corner.

"Nightbeat!" Minerva gasps. He's being carried off by that mech she saw in the Archives with Orion and Ariel—the one called Barricade!

"My baby!" Silhouette cries out, a horrified expression sweeping over her split faceplates. "Look what you've done! He's only a child! Why would you do this?" She wrings her servos together and claws at her own faceplates in what appears to be some kind of high-notch panic attack.

Minerva hefts herself off of the control panel and looks to Silhouette, ready to attack. What is she starting up now?

Silhouette continues her rave, "I knew I couldn't trust Roulette! My own sister! I knew she would do this to me! She's jealous! She wants to take my family for herself!" The femme's gaze isn't even upon Minerva any longer, rather, it is fixed on some dark place in the shadows of the room. The mixing colors of light beaming from the vivid screen almost seem to bring her psychotic delusions and paranoia to the surfaces of her plating.

Minerva is caught by one bit—sister? That would explain things. Surely Prowl already knows by now, but that's not what's important. Right now, she needs to put this sick creature down. For good.

Before anything can be done, however, Silhouette suddenly screams out, her disturbed optics aimed at one of the mid-center vid feeds. Taking the chance and turning to see what has shaken the other femme further so, Minerva too feels a sense of fear grip her, "Mirage!"

The small vid depicts a small, blue and white sparkling being forcibly carried away down the halls of Kolkular by—

"Wilder! He's—but I—he—he died!" Something seems to snap in Silhouette's processor, and a child-like face suddenly masks itself over her visage; one filled with curiosity. "Didn't he? Did he? I thought he was with me all along…" As if to check for the presence of somebot, she looks to both of her sides, and her spark sinks when she finds nothing there, "I must've just lost him… He got lost when I was taking him along for a walk. We were separated in the crowd. The Enforcers found a small chassis in the channel. They said they believed it to be him, but it was so… tattered. But, but look, look..." A smile breaks across her faceplates, "Look how big he's gotten… he's so handsome."

Silhouette turns her processor and looks at the screen holding the other sparkling, the one she had taken home with her and had renamed. "I suppose I didn't find him that time. I suppose it wouldn't make sense if I found him in a channel in Iacon; he was in a channel in Kaon, wasn't he? That's what they said. Who is that one, then?" She steps forward, and Minerva quickly moves out of her way, utterly perplexed by all of this. "He stole Xeon's spark, you know…"

Silhouette slowly drags the tip of her digit across the screen where the mystery sparkling's face is. Her dazed expression grows dark and she presses on the screen until small fractures spring around the point of pressure. She is unfazed by the split in the tip of her digit that is caused by this, and she speaks gravely as a thin line of energon leaks from the wound, "They can't both be him. One of them has to go. One must die for the other to survive."

Minerva has heard enough. She wasn't sure if she was prepared to kill another Cybertronian, but now, she's _aching_ to do just that. Pulling the dagger that had been thrown at her out of the control panel, she positions herself behind the deranged mother of Kaon and raises the dagger to her throat and receives no resistance. Quick. She'll make it quick.

Her servo trembles. A cold condensation stings her dermal plating. Her internals twist.

She shouldn't have hesitated. Silhouette seizes the servo bearing the dagger and sinks her teeth into it like a mad organic creature. Minerva screams out in shock and pain, and the blade is dropped from her grasp. Silhouette backs up into Minerva's chassis and pulls the femme's arm, successfully sweeping her upwards into the air and slamming her forward onto the control panel once more. Turning and glancing around the room, Silhouette spots the controls to the main coolant pumps of the Smelting Pool.

"That's how I'll do it. He'll go away into a warm dream." She lifts her sharpened pede into the air. "Hush, Wilder, we'll be leaving soon."

"No!" Minerva coughs up a bit of energon and lifts herself off of the ground.


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: Alright all, this here is yet another chapter that came out on the rough side, but it is growing closer to the end, so I suppose that's when everything comes to its darkest moments. I posted a chapter during the week, so please don't forget to read it as well X)

To Vivienne Grainger: hehe aw thank you for all of your kind comments, they always make me feel so good! ^_^ and I always love to hear that I've left a reader on the edge of their seat :D

To SEZwho94: lol you _like_ the villainess now?:D haha I'm glad my characterization of her craziness is appealing XD I know, am I too mean to the lil guy? And, le gasp! OoO I cannot tell ya that! X) his fate may or may not be revealed, that is all I can say (even tho it's not really saying much)… :D

Thank you to all my wonderful readers and reviewers! ^_^ Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

"Get your afts moving, all of you!" Kup waves his servo in wide sweeps as he runs across one of the bridges set high over the usual rim level of the Smelting Pool. Audio receptor-piercing emergency sirens blare in the factory while spinning lights flash from the walls and ceiling.

"This whole fragging place is gonna blow! Kup, how much longer can we stay?" Springer follows alongside the mech who serves as his commander and mentor.

"We stay till we get that kid and his mother! And keep yer optics peeled for another sparkling! Chances are he's here too!" As Kup sprints down the metal network of overpasses and ramps, an abrupt eruption from the Smelting Pool below sends a heavy blob of acid matter high into the air that takes out the bridge in front of him. Slamming his pedes into the ground, the rustic mech nearly skids off the edge but is saved when a strong servo grips his shoulder. He lets his optics linger only for a moment on the molten bath below, his near demise, but pulls himself away to nod at his student, "Quick movin', Springer." The young mech nods in return.

Kup then looks forward again—somebot had been running ahead of him before the bridge went and is now separated from the rest of the team! "Prowl! Where the Pit are you goin'? You gotta stick with us! Major's orders!"

"I'm going after Nightbeat!" Prowl races through the factory in the direction he saw that Gladiator take the sparkling.

"Not alone, you're not!" Jazz is about to take a running start to leap the gap where the bridge had been.

Kup places his servo on the young saboteur-to-be's shoulder to stop him, "You're stickin' with me, kid. I need your radar scans to find the other two bots we're here for. Springer, go with him."

"Right." Springer transforms into his helicopter mode and easily passes over the gap and continues onward towards his target. Transforming in midair, he lands a few paces behind Prowl and tags along, "You're not doing this alone, Prowl."

Whether or not Springer understands the massive weight behind his statement, Prowl is unsure. He finally has back-up. His voice has finally been heard, after so long. Thinking back on it now, Prowl has acted quite out of character with his recent escapades. Running away from the Academy he worked so hard to get into? Going to a foreign city-state with an untrained femme? What would he have done had he not finally reached Sentinel Major?

The thought is irrelevant, obsolete. He has the backing of his peers and superiors now, and that's all that is of importance.

Kup watches the pair go. "Alright, Jazz, gimme a—hey, wait a klik, where's that femme?" He looks back to where they had dropped into the factory and finds nobot. Grinding his teeth, Kup grumbles as he raises his servo to activate a comlink, "Young-uns these cycles… Roulette? Where the—oh, are you? Mind giving a warning next time, sweetspark? You could'a been sinkin' at the bottom o' that Smelting Pool for all I knew. Yeah. Sure."

Jazz can't hold back a smirk as he watches the little tirade unfold, but quickly goes neutral when his instructor turns to him.

"Jazz, gimme a radar sweep for any spark resonations. Also, let's get to some higher ground, this place feels like it's gonna boil over pretty soon." As the two mechs begin to head for a set of ladders, Kup is brought to a halt when his student stops. "What is it?"

"Ah, yeah, we got some spark readings, but you're not gonna like how many. Or where they're headed."

"Spill it, Jazz, we don't have time."

"We got a scrap-load o' big mechs headed for us right now—nobot I recognize, either."

Kup grins with glee as he opens another comlink, "Whirl, bring Roadblock and Twintwist in here, we got some playmates for you crazy-afts." He closes the link, "C'mon, kid, we'll leave the opposition to the bots with the bigger guns." The two continue onward and go higher into the compartments of the factory.

Whirl, a Cybertronian with a helicopter mode, comes sweeping in through the open ceiling of the factory, carrying one Cybertronian inside his alt-form while a larger one hangs from his landing gear, "Pit, Roadblock, you been raiding the Energon fridge again? I can hardly gain any lift!"

"Quit yer whinin', Whirl, that's the price for bein' the muscle around this joint." Roadbust smiles broadly under his face shield.

"Sure ain't no dermal plating off _your_ back, eh Roadbuster?" Twintwist slaps his knee in amusement.

"Hey, don't sound so pleased with yourself, Twintwist, you ain't exactly a lightweight yourself!" The flyer remarks as he unloads his passengers into the factory before transforming and touching down beside them.

"Yeah, but at least I can hold my High-grade like a mech!" Twintwist exchanges a hearty high-five with his larger comrade.

"Fraaaag you, that was **one** occasion!" Whirl shoves the other.

"But nobot's gonna forget it anytime soon!" Roadbuster receives a shove as well from his classmate.

As the three Academy bots joke around, the factory is suddenly flooded with a squadron of fresh Decepticons who encircle the trio.

Twintwist elbows Roadbust, "Hey, hey, check these mechs out. They're actin' all coordinated n' stuff."

Whirl huffs, "Why don't we ever act coordinated?"

"Cuz you're a lightweight, that's why." Twintwist earns another high-five.

"Ain't nothin' nice an' precise 'bout wreckin'." Roadbust grinds one of his fisted servos into the palm of the other, effectively cracking the joints of his digits in an intimidating manner.

Once the Decepticons are situated in their battle-ready positions, one of them calls out, "You're gonna burn, pretty bots!"

Twintwist scoffs and mockingly plumps his helm to make sure he looks good, "We'll show ya somethin' pretty."

* * *

I'm brought out of my stasis recharge when I hear a loud crash. Onlining my fuzzy optics, I find myself lying on the ground of Megatron's throne room. I roll onto my back and look over to see Barricade doing his best to jam a large sheet of scrap metal over the space of the missing double door that Megatron had blown out. Barricade is making a barricade.

That was a terrible joke. I must be growing delusional from lack of energy.

Rolling my processor to the other side in an attempt to work out some of the kinks, my optic is caught by a red shimmer of light from across the room. Moving as quietly as I can, I lift myself onto my servos and kneeplates and begin to crawl over to the curious glint. I come upon the broken pieces of the toy gun that Megatron had crushed; the reflection that grabbed my attention was from the red, spherical light bulb of it. It appears to be unscathed, so I gingerly lift the translucent orb and place it in a subspace compartment. At least I still have this.

I feel a looming presence behind me, which is indicated by a shadow that encases my frame. I weakly turn my processor and find with no surprise that it's Barricade. I look over to the door and almost have to snigger at the poor craftsmanship of the door jam. I suppose Kaonian miners only know how to knock stuff down, not put it up.

I begin to feel uneasy as Barricade continues to simply tower over me, staring with a blank expression. The room is absolutely silent, and the pressure seems to be rising with every klik. I can't find anything to read the intentions of the Gladiator standing before me, until my exposed optics drop to his servos. He's clenching them so tightly that his forearms are trembling, and it looks like the dermal plating of his palms are about to bust from the force.

He's mad as Pit about something.

Then it hits me—Brawl. Brawl was his comrade; they always seemed to be together, watching each other's backs. If Barricade is reacting like this, perhaps… they weren't just comrades, but friends. Maybe even like brothers. Did Barricade see what happened?

My thoughts are cut short when my faceplates are suddenly met by the backside of the grieving mech's tense servo. Without any strength to resist the impact, my chassis twists with the force and I'm sent sprawling onto the floor. I feel something burning in my mouth. That's it. I'm completely spent. To my astonishment, my chassis has the strength to do something that I have no control over, something that I wish I was unable to do—I begin crying like a newly created sparkling.

I'm so frustrated. I'm so finished with being treated like scrap. My chassis hurts all over. I smudge my cheekplates against the cold floor to numb my heated processor. My mind begins playing tricks on me, directing my anger towards more than the mech who just hit me.

I'm angry at the whole world. I'm angry at the Enforcers. They should do their fragging job and just _kill_ all of these thugs! I'm angry at all of these stupid grown-ups! I'm angry at all the rich bots! I'm angry at all the poor bots that just accept the waste they live in! I'm angry at Primus! I'm angry at the Emirate! He left me! I'm angry at Dad! I'm angry at Mom! They all left me! They've all just spit in my face and left me to rust! I must just be the scum of Cybertron!

Doesn't anybot care?

That sounds so pathetic. Do I really feel this way? Or maybe I'm just… so tired. I shouldn't think this way. I know somebot cares. I just haven't seen one for a while, that's all. I've seen the worst of the worst, and I've been through some bad slag. Maybe I could just see this all as a learning experience? Frag, who needs to go to school to be a detective when you can be with criminals in their element?

Pulling myself out of my little internal crisis, I struggle to become aware of my surroundings. I've stopped crying, though my cheeks are still wet. I look up a little and find that Barricade has made himself comfortable in Megatron's throne. Speaking of Mr. Dark, Tall and Ugly, where is that so-called Gladiator Champion? Maybe he got scared and ran off when Prowl arrived with those other mechs?

Prowl! That's right! Prowl's here!

"You're one weird kid. First you're crying like a little femme on the ground and now you've got some kind of happy spark in yer optics. You some kind of freak?" Barricade speaks with a bored tone and takes out of subspaces a cube of what I assume is high-grade.

No, I'm not a freak. I'm just happy cuz Prowl's gonna skin your aftplate. What's not to be happy about?

"Say somethin', would ya? Yer givin' me the creeps." Barricade shifts in his seat with excess energy. Is he nervous?

Why has he holed us up in the throne room? Surely there's some kind of secret get-away door in here, it's the throne room of their leader. Why would he possibly want to stay when the Gladiators' presence here has clearly been blown?

He just lost his friend, Brawl, so maybe he's suicidal? Maybe he wants some kind of revenge against the Enforcers? Or… maybe his leader has told him to eradicate the invaders who know of this place? If that's the case, then I really wonder just how powerful this mech is. It also makes me worried that he's getting thoroughly overenergized at the moment.

"You're one fraggin' weird kid. You don't even seem like a kid, really. I mean, you go running around during the _dark cycle_ chasin' gangsters? You figure out the most creative ways to scrap up a mech six times your size when he roughs you up a little? Why don't you just be a normal kid and go to school, get a girlfriend?" The Gladiator takes a hard swig of his cube.

A girlfriend? Ick. Research has proven that girls are gross— my mom being an exception, of course. They're always trying to hold your servo and kiss you and get all their girl germs on you. Research has also proven that girl germs melt your dermal plating and lead to disintegrating processor chips. At least I _think_ that's how my dad used to put it…

I must've made some kind of face demonstrating how I felt about the 'girlfriend' comment, because Barricade scoffs and shakes his processor. The room is quiet once more until the sound of running pede steps is heard from outside. It sounds like two sets, if I'm correct. Barricade sighs in annoyance and tosses his cube across the floor before standing. He turns and comes my way and awkwardly picks me up by my arms. He definitely doesn't know how you're supposed to hold a kid.

Tucking me under one of his thick arms, he walks into the center of the room, under one of the only lights. He's obviously not in the mood to play hide-and-seek. I flinch when a bright, long energon blade suddenly slides out of his other arm, replacing his servo and clicking into its locked position. The pede steps outside come to a standstill.

My audio receptors are temporarily inoperable when the doors are suddenly blown out of their frames, revealing two mechs. I see Prowl and feel a sharp pang of anxiety shoot through my spark chamber; please, Primus, don't let him get hurt. He's joined by a tall, green mech who looks to be about his age; his faceplates are chiseled and his optics are bright. He looks like a good fighter.

The two mechs stand still, locking optics with Barricade. I see Prowl's optics falter as they turn to me and he his chest compartment rises sharply with a silent, hard intake. I wonder if he even recognizes me with my visor gone and my paint colors all a mess, but I suppose that reaction just now would indicate that he does.

I'm taken by surprise when Barricade touches the tip of his sword onto the ground and begins slowly walking backwards away from his opponents, then straight up turns his skidplate around and starts running away from them. The other mechs are just as flabbergasted, but are quick to react.

Prowl is right on Barricade's heels when the Gladiator reveals the deception behind his strange action and runs up onto Megatron's throne, scales the back rest of it with his pedes, then does a back flip into the air, landing right behind Prowl.

"Prowl!" I scream.

Prowl is too slow, however, but just before he gets an energon blade in his side, Prowl's green comrade swings his heavy fist towards the offending mech's processor. Barricade swiftly ducks and darts out from between the two mechs. Slag, that green mech is fast! Barricade must have been expecting him to take a bit longer catching up, but apparently the mech can really move.

Prowl raises his gun but then hesitates; he's afraid I could get in the crossfire.

"Use your blade, idiot!" The green mech bites out.

"I—I don't have one!" Prowl looks utterly frustrated as he continuously raises and lowers his gun.

The green mech growls in annoyance before pulling two blades off of his back and tossing one to Prowl. The blade looks pretty heavy, and Prowl fumbles with the weight of it as he grabs it out of the air with little grace. He has to instantly raise it to parry, however, when Barricade leaps up and brings his own blade downwards on him. The Gladiator mech obviously wants to take out the lesser threat before dealing with the unknown abilities of the green one.

Prowl's comrade, whoever he is, clearly isn't going to put up with this, it would seem. The mystery mech is just as quick and is upon Barricade in a flash, shooting a blocky pede at the smaller mech. Once more, Barricade has to make a hasty retreat and jumps backwards away from the fray. If I wasn't so freaked out, I would probably be having fun being taken along for all of this jumping, flipping, and gliding through the air.

Barricade rebounds off of the wall and lands behind the green mech. A flurry of forward attacks and defensive blocks are exchanged between the two, using a mix of blades, servos, and quick pedes. Prowl, meanwhile, is standing in the background, with a strange light in his optics. I bet I know what he's doing; he's putting his battle processing unit to work. He's observing, and perhaps soon he'll be more ready to join the fight.

Both Prowl and I bring our attention back to the scuffle when the green mech receives a deep slash across his faceplates—and his right optic shatters, erupting in a fountain of angry sparks. A kick to the chest sends him crashing backwards onto the throne and his processor hits the backrest of it roughly. Barricade speeds forward and bounds towards the downed mech, but is met by resistance while in midair. In an amazing show of suddenly-gained skill, Prowl intercepts Barricade and thrusts his blade in forward—and takes off Barricade's right leg just above the knee! The furious Praxian delivers another blow in the form of a processor-butt to Barricade's faceplates, crushing the Gladiator's olfactory sensor housing.

I'm brought along as the momentum of Prowl's unexpected attack sends all three of us downward to the ground. Prowl lands lightly on his pedes and flicks the energon off of his blade in a most skillful manner while Barricade lands heavily on his back a ways away.

"The frag was that!" Barricade shouts angrily and is up on his only pede in a sparkbeat. I wonder just what Barricade thinks he's going to pull with only one pede to hop on, but I realize his plan too late. In the next moment I'm being tossed from his grasp right towards Prowl and I instinctively curl myself up. Prowl's optics widen and he makes the mistake of reaching out to catch me, dropping his blade in the process. Just as I feel his protective servos begin to curl around me, however, a blade passes just a fraction away from my midsection and continues onward to pierce through Prowl's chest compartment.

I scream out in complete horror as Prowl gasps and is sent crashing backwards into a wall when Barricade pushes the blade in further before breaking it off. Prowl still manages to wrap his arms around my tiny frame as he sinks against the wall, staining it with his own energon in a horrible streak. Prowl's optics grow distant as he gathers what just occurred, but he turns them to me and tightens his hold. I begin to cry again when I meet those cold pools with my own optics.

"You're… you're okay. Hhh..heh… Thank Primus, Nightbeat…" He holds the back of my processor and brings my forehead forward to touch to his and shutters his optics. This is unbearable. I kiss his cheek and bury my face into his neck and hold onto him; I don't want to lose him. In my mind, he's my big brother.

Barricade flicks his processor to the side, cracking his neck column before unsheathing a fresh energon blade from his arm compartment. He stalks-more like hops- over to where the green mech—_had_ been. He spins around on his single pede, using his blade like a cane to keep himself somewhat balanced. That's when the green mech drops from the ceiling and comes straight down above him. Barricade looks up just as the green mech lands his massive pedes on his shoulders and stakes his sword downwards—straight down Barricade's throat.

Prowl turns my curious gaze away with a gentle servo on my processor when I try seeing what happened.

A horrible gurgling sound escapes through the gaps between Barricade's busted teeth and sword. The green mech steps off of the now knelt Gladiator and leaps back when the downed mech tries swiping at him with his energon blade. The green mech watches on curiously as Barricade slowly raises a servo up to touch the handle of the sword protruding from his mouth. His look of curiosity, however, quickly turns to a mix of shock and disgust as Barricade grasps the handle and pulls the sword out in one quick yank.

Barricade holds his processor up for a moment before easing it downwards, his optics shuttered. They then online once more, spilling a furious light out, aimed at the mech he plans on destroying. He stands, now with two weapons of destruction.

"Slag." A snarl crosses the green mech's faceplates, and he holds up his servos, balled into tight fists, "I've got better things to do tonight."


	41. Chapter 41

A/N: Hey guys, I'm so sorry I haven't posted all week! My laptop was attacked by some weird virus and I pretty much have to completely swipe the hard drive and start fresh (oh well XD) but here's another chapter, not the last (not just yet).

To Vivienne Grainger: Thank you for the compliment, I always like delving into the experiences of side characters just as much as I do the main character ^_^ Thank you for your comment!

To SEZwho94: LOL yes, Barricade is a stubborn bugger indeed XD As for the sphere, it could just be a sentimental object or (dun dun dun!) perhaps more… X) Thankya for your comment!

Thank you to all of my wonderful readers and reviewers, please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

_"Prowl?"_

_"Hm?"_

_"What's it like having cousins? Is it like having brothers?"_

_"Well…yes, I suppose it is. At least, in my case it is. I grew up very close with Smokescreen and Bluestreak, so we basically treat one another like brothers. Don't you have any relatives around your age?"_

_"No. It's just me, my mom and my dad. Dad's always away, though."_

_"Oh, I see… Well, what about Siren?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"Siren, your friend. You two seem very close, is he your best friend?"_

_"'Best friend'? I… dunno. He's always following me around, but he's so little. I'm afraid to play with him cuz he might break."_

_Prowl laughs lightly, "That's thoughtful of you to be mindful of his fragility, but he'll be big enough soon. What I mean, Nightbeat, is that sometimes your closest friends can be considered family. I think of my best friend, Jazz, as a brother."_

_"Oh… well… would that make me Siren's big brother?"_

_"It could. But as a big brother, it's your responsibility to protect your younger siblings."_

_The sparkling from Sector Capri contemplates what is laid before him: a duty to protect those who are too weak, too small— too fragile. "Prowl?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Will you be my big brother?"_

_

* * *

_

Minerva slowly drags herself out of the murky clouds of forced recharge and pushes her senses to read her surroundings. Her processor is elevated from the ground upon which she had fallen in the Control Room, and it feels like it is being cradled by a large servo. Her sparkmate used to hold her processor like this. Perhaps she's offlined? Has she joined him after all this time away?

No, no she can't be. She has to find her child. Her sparkmate wouldn't let her join him just yet. Their child is in danger.

The mother of Sector Capri forces her optics to override the safe-mode start up and they online with a flash.

"Good to see you're still with us, Ma'am. I'd never forgive myself if we'd lost ya."

She recognizes the mech speaking. She'd met him at her sparkmate's memorial service. He's certainly aged since she last saw him, "K-Kup?"

"That's right, darlin'. I'm sorry this happened—all of it. But you're in good servos now, and we've got a location on your son. I've got mechs on the job as we speak." Kup helps Minerva sit up, keeping a servo on her back to assure she won't fall over.

Minerva takes in a scope of her surroundings; the two bots are joined by a third mech, a young one she recognizes—Jazz— the one that had helped her and Prowl get to Kaon. The young mech nods, his optics shielded by a brilliant blue visor.

"There was—there was another femme here, she means to—to kill my son." Speaking as though she is reminding herself rather than informing the two mechs in her presence, Minerva stands and begins walking towards the doorway.

"Woah woah woah, Minerva." Kup gently grasps her arm to stop her, "Listen, we've got it handled. Right now, we need to get you out of here so we can concentrate all of our effort on getting your son out as well. You're not in very good shape. We need to get you to safety."

Minerva looks Kup in the optics, frozen. She isn't sure what to do. She's been fighting alone all this time and she's unsure of what to do now that she has help. Surely she can't just sit this one out. What kind of a mother would that make her?

"Minerva," Jazz steps forward and rests a servo on her shoulder, "You've done enough. You've done more than enough. Let us take over from here. You need to take a breather now. We'll bring him back to you, I promise."

The femme doesn't feel that her chassis can handle much more of this. She feels as though she's going to be torn to shreds, and not just from her physical wounds. Her spark has been taken on a maddening roller coaster of fear, anger, helplessness, hatred, and anguish. And now she is to simply step back?

"Please, Minerva, let us do the rest. We'll bring him back. You've got my word, too." Kup keeps his hold on her arm, steadying her weak chassis from collapsing.

Perhaps… she ought to do as they say. These are good mechs, after all. They know what they're doing, they've been trained. Perhaps she would only be a hindrance at this point with the condition she's in. She lets her processor nod in acceptance. She can sense the two mechs beside her release a sigh of pressure from their vents. Jazz kindly touches the back of her processor. It's a promise.

Kup raises his servo to his helm and activates a comlink, "Blades, I'm gonna need you to come around to our location. We'll find access to the roof and meet you up there. We've found the mother."

"Wait… Jazz—" Minerva turns and grabs the younger mech's shoulder, "Jazz, there's another sparkling here, his name is Mirage—"

"Primus, so the Towers kid _is_ here." Kup gnashes his teeth and holds his servo to his chin in contemplation, "Where'd you see him? Is he alright?"

"I saw him on the vid screens; he was being taken by another youngling down that hallway." Minerva points to the screen that she had seen the Towers sparkling on.

"Alright, Jazz, you take Minerva—"

"Wait, Kup, lemme get this one."

"Forget it, Jazz, I don't want you stickin' around this Pit longer than necessary—"

"I'm faster than you. I can get that kid outta here and into safety a lot faster than you can. Lemme get this one."

A snarl crosses the old mentor's faceplates; he knows he's getting old, but that doesn't mean the young bots are free to rub his olfactory sensor in it. "…Fine. You get that kid and you meet us on the roof. You better be down there and back within ten breems or I'm coming to drag your sorry aft back up myself."

Jazz smirks at how touchy his instructor is when his age is brought up. Not wasting any time, the special ops-mech-in-training turns and demonstrates just how fast he can move, "Won't let you down, sir!"

"You've yet to do so, son." Kup takes a quick moment to intake proudly as he watches one of his most promising pupils disappear down the dark hallway outside the Control Room. He turns to the femme beside him, "Can you walk?"

Minerva has to let herself smile lightly as she puts an arm around the older mech's neck for support, "Yes, there won't be any need for you to carry me."

Kup returns the smile, "That's too bad, I was hoping I'd have to."

* * *

"Prowl?" My optics turn downward to observe his wound, it doesn't look good. I can't let him fall into recharge, though, or he could be locked into stasis. "Prowl, Prowl remember that one time when you caught me climbing up the side of that big tower beside the factory? Do you remember that when I couldn't get down you climbed up to get me and then you got stuck too?"

Prowl's dim optics grow a little brighter, "Hn… yeah, I remember…" The corner of his lip components twitches upward. "Sentinel Major… had to remind me that I was working towards being a Law Enforcer… not a Fire Department Rescuer."

I giggle lightly, though my spark trembles with fear, "We were stuck up there for half the cycle 'til they finally brought a flyer around since they couldn't get a ladder that was tall enough."

"And then I told you… not to climb stuff anymore. I knew you would though…"

"Yeah, you caught me two cycles later climbing the Academy's perimeter walls."

"Hnn…heh… I couldn't believe you had the nerve…"

I hear yet another cry of fury escape the vocalizer of one of the battling mechs behind us in the heart of the throne room. Once more I try turning my processor to see what has happened, but again Prowl shields my optics with his servo.

"Prowl?"

"Hm?"

"Who's that green mech?"

"That's Springer."

"He's tough."

"Yeah."

Barricade reels back as he struggles to still his dizzy processor and recover from a blowing kick to the face. Springer bounds forward, but the Gladiator is still up to speed and jumps to the side, avoiding a follow-up attack. With his side momentarily exposed to the one-legged fighter, Springer curses internally and raises a defensive arm up. As expected, the Gladiator is quick to exploit the other mech's fleeting weakness and swings his stolen sword in a wide sweep, opening a large gash in the green mech's defensive arm.

In order to keep his own open spot defended, Barricade follows his strike with a swing of his energon blade, not expecting the blow to land. Springer dodges the swipe with ease and then makes a bold move—taking a wide step towards his opponent, the young hard-hitter moves his upper chassis with a forceful push and brings his processor crashing into the other's. At this point, Barricade's once handsome olfactory sensor housing is now flattened beyond recognition.

Barricade is getting tired of this. He doesn't like losing; he can't even remember the last time he lost. The only coincidence he remembers—quite clearly, at that—is the first and last time he faced Megatron in the arena. Barricade has never submitted to anybot. His whole life, he's been a mech unbounded by any authority, free to choose whatever path he wishes. That's why Megatron was so interested in recruiting him. He saw that Barricade already lived by the ideals that he wished to bring forth for the rest of his following. A mech who could so boldly deny the system that Megatron himself had fallen prey to was a mech with spirit worth obtaining.

Barricade, however, had not been fond of the idea of following some mech who felt his words were important; he wasn't fond of following anything that wasn't his own will. However, once Barricade learned that Megatron was more than words, but was also pure might and power, he knew that there was something worthwhile in joining the cause. Also, Barricade wasn't initially given much of a choice; in the arena, Megatron had given him the option of submission or termination.

Ever since then, Barricade decided that he wouldn't be defeated ever again. Never had he felt so completely seized and controlled after his tangle with Megatron; it wasn't a feeling Barricade preferred. Victory or offlining, those were his only options from then on.

Bringing himself back to the fight, Barricade stakes the other mech's stolen sword into the ground and contracts his own energon blade back into his arm compartment. Springer falls back into a warrior stance, ready for whatever the Gladiator is planning. In the next instant, an intense burst of light blinds the optics of the mechs within the room, and a bright purple shockwave of energy emits from Barricade's chassis, spreading outwards in a violent pulse.

Springer is caught in the wave and is sent flying into an opposing wall of the throne room with intense burns searing through his dermal plating. The pulse is so powerful that the tall columns supporting the ceiling of the room crack and some have their midsections blown out. Prowl and I are below the horizontally traveling shockwave, but still feel an impact as it passes over us and strikes the wall we're sitting against.

As quickly as the powerful attack was unleashed, it's over. The room seems to grow darker than it had been before, and it is as silent as a grave. Barricade collapses onto his knee and stub, his optics set with great intensity on the fallen frame of his opponent. After a long wait, Springer does not stand again.

A sound slowly rises from Barricade's vocalizer. Soft, at first, but it quickly gains volume and is soon echoing throughout the room; he's laughing insanely. "Think you can send a little school bot to take me out? Bring on the next one! I'll slaughter the whole fraggin' academy!" Barricade pushes himself onto his only pede and detracts his energon blade to use as a second leg. He turns and begins limping towards me and Prowl. "You still alive, pretty boy? Fraggin' unbelievable. I never miss a mark. But no worries, no worries. I'll take care of you for sure this time."

I can't let him kill Prowl. I won't let this happen. I use all of my strength and I stand on my pedes and do all that I can; I spread my arms out in a protective stance over the fallen chassis of my protector.

"N-Night…no…" Prowl tries moving to pull me away from danger, but is unable to lift a servo.

"'That's cute, kid, but it ain't gonna save nobot." Barricade's voice is as cold as ever.

"P-please… don't…" I don't expect this to work.

"You had your chance, kid. I told you to stop playing detective a long time ago. Now you're gonna learn." Barricade leans forward and reaches out to grab me. That's when I remember something.

Dipping into the last of my energon reserves, I rotate and activate my Photon Pistols, blasting the Gladiator right in his smashed up faceplates. Barricade shouts in shock and goes tumbling backwards, quickly falling off balance with only one pede for support.

"AAARGH! That's it, kid! I was gonna let you live, but now I'm gonna go with Megatron's 'Plan B' and just bring in yer offlined processor!"

I hold my protective stance in front of Prowl as Barricade lunges forward with his blade drawn. The Gladiator's blade, however, never lands its mark. When I online my optics once more, I find Springer standing in Barricade's place, and the Gladiator is sprawled out on the floor, unmoving, a few paces away to the side.

"C'mon, kid. Let's get you home." Springer steps out of his fighting stance and comes forward. I step out of the way as he gently brings Prowl to his pedes and loops one of the Praxian's arms around the back of his neck. The green mech then bends over slightly to scoop me up into his free arm.

Am I safe now?

As if reading my mind, the mech known as Springer assures me, "We've gotcha, kid."

Not a moment after his words leave his vocalizer, however, a deep rumble suddenly shakes the ground. "Aaand… What was that?" Springer questions, sounding annoyed.

Prowl lifts his processor just in time to see beyond the open doors of the throne room and out into the hallway. The windows in the hall that look into the depths of the Smelting Pool are—cracking. The shockwave that Barricade had released must have begun a chain reaction! "Springer—we've got to… move!"

Just as Prowl speaks, the windows in the wall of the hallway finally give, releasing a furious rush of acidic molten inside in a deafening eruption. Springer hardly has a chance to curse before the molten wave is crashing through the throne room's doorway and charging towards us. Kicking himself into his highest gear, the green mech runs down the length of the throne room, dragging Prowl along and carrying me under his other arm. Beyond the Gladiator Champion's distinctive throne, we find a 'secret' door.

Springer kicks the metal door in as though it is a sheet of glass and shoves his way through. I let my processor hang upside down and look between my dangling pedes to see the molten substance filling the room and coming up right behind us. A mix of splashing and steaming sounds flood my audio receivers with white noise as the destructive liquid eats through the metal floors and walls, releasing clouds of steam into the surrounding air.

Beyond the door is a stairway, and I've got to admit, I'm thoroughly impressed with how quickly a mech Springer's size can book it.


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: We're right at the end here! One more chapter after this! I'll probably be getting the last one posted this weekend, probably either Friday or Saturday, cuz I'm on a roll right now and finally have free time! I'm kinda sad that we're almost done here, though, but there's always more to come ^_^

To Vivienne Grainger: Your compliments and comments are always so kind, and I'm so grateful to receive them. And to answer your question, if anything I aim to_ not _let up the pressure, where's the fun in that? :D Thank you for your comment! ^_^

To SEZwho94: I love Springer, he's just an insanely tough yet so calmly tempered (most of the time) mech. He really is a great character, and I'm happy with how much attention IDW has given him ^_^ and there you go with those questions of who's bought it, I can't tell ye! :D stick around for the next chapter, much will be revealed XD Thank you for your comment! ^_^

To all of my amazing readers and reviewers, Thank You and Please Enjoy and Review!

* * *

Jazz bolts through the narrow hallways of the lower levels of Kolkular with a heavy weight sitting in the back of his processor. The special-ops trainee knows he's violating his emotional code of conduct by letting a sense of worry swell in his tanks, but that explosion he just heard didn't sound good, and it sounded like it was in the direction Prowl and Springer ran off to. If he had to make an educated guess, Jazz would put his credits on the Smelting Pool's containment unit finally beginning to give; he doesn't want to be around when the Pool finally overcomes the hold of entire fortification.

Releasing another radar pulse, the instantly returned data indicates that he's coming closer to reaching the two spark resonations he's been tracking. Perhaps Jazz should have tried questioning Minerva who this second sparkling who is apparently dragging the Tower's kid away is. Going into a situation blind of the circumstances and factors is never a smart idea if it can be avoided. He'll just have to improvise, and if there's a bot who can improvise, it's Jazz.

Whether it's busting a move or busting an opponent's faceplates, Jazz is the master of improv; always has been, too. His creative thinking skills and strategy are already among the best of his class, but when it comes to making fast decisions under pressure, Jazz takes first place. It's something the mech takes pride in; it's something that he can do better than Prowl.

Ever since Jazz and Prowl met in their freshman year at the Academy, they've been tight friends—to the point that they consider each other brothers from other motherboards. While some of the other students find their friendship to be illogical on all levels, it actually makes a lot of sense from a strategic perspective. Both students are aiming for officer positions, and it is very likely that the two will be working together in the future. Furthermore, the two make up for one another's weak points. Prowl is the master strategist that keeps Jazz from acting on impulse and irrational motives, whereas Jazz keeps Prowl from going too by the books—from being too predictable—and provides invaluable input under pressurized situations that could lead the Praxian to a fry his neural circuits.

As tight as they are, Jazz has always felt what he likes to call a 'friendly rivalry' between himself and his friend. He would never admit it, but he's actually a tad on the jealous side of how… _together_ Prowl seems. There's a price that comes with being able to make fast, inventive decisions on the spot; sometimes one who can formulate a plan for the now can't always see what lies in the future. From the moment Jazz first met Prowl, however, he knew that the Praxian mech had his plans all set and had the drive to make them happen. Jazz, on the other servo, has always been one to live in the moment. He wishes he could see where his life is going, but just can't stand still long enough to think about it.

Jazz assumes that it's only a phase he's going through, and believes that his friendship with Prowl will actually help him overcome it. After all, the act of simply being around Prowl brings Jazz to a calm, focused state of mind; his friend's demand for order leads Jazz to slow down and organize his own thoughts before acting. Perhaps this new mindset that he's been developing will eventually mold Jazz into a more mature mech that looks to the future just as much as he does to the present.

A loud siren suddenly goes off in the hallways as red emergency lights on the walls begin flashing, forcing Jazz back to said present. His feelings of worry deepen as he contemplates what is more than likely happening in the bowls of the lethal Smelting Pool. Whose bright idea was it to build a foundation right on top of a subsurface pocket of acid, anyways? It's believed that the Smelting Pool's molten substance comes straight from the core of Cybertron itself; which means it's hotter than the Pit and made of the stuff of nightmares.

After another radar pulse, Jazz finds that the two spark resonations are emanating from around the upcoming corner. Taking the turn with the grace that is in conjunction with Jazz's style, he's stopped in his tracks upon discovering the source of the resonations.

A single sparkling is sitting in the middle of the hallway, his back to the Academy mech. The child's processor is lowered, and his tiny shoulders are trembling as though he's crying, but no sound is coming out. Jazz scans his surroundings with his optics as he cautiously steps towards the child; why was he picking up two sparks on his radar readings? Returning his attention to the sparkling before him while keeping his sensors sharp, Jazz slowly kneels down a few steps away from the child.

"Are you Mirage? Are you hurt?" he speaks softly.

The child stops moving for a moment. Jazz is unsettled by the little one's silence.

"Mirage, I'm going to come over to you, okay? We're here to take you home, you're safe now." Coming off of his knees, Jazz takes light steps towards the sparkling before gently touching his shoulder to announce his presence. Stepping around the child in order to face him, Jazz's optics flash in surprise when he discovers a pair of stasis cuffs around the youngling's wrists.

Quickly kneeling before the child, Jazz unlocks the cuffs and tosses them aside. He's about to question the sparkling's state of functionality when he notices the fearful look in his optics.

It's a trap!

Just as Jazz raises his weapon and begins to turn around, a sharp object suddenly cuts through the air and slashes across his main neck cables. A small sound of surprise escapes his vocalizer before his throat fills with his own energon. He grasps his neck with a servo and spins on his pedes just in time to dodge a second projectile being thrown by—a **kid?**

"Enforcer trash! You'll die for displeasing my lord!" Wilder drops from the ventilation duct in the ceiling and springs forward the moment his first pede touches the floor. Contracting a short energon blade from his wrist, the Decepticon sparkling charges the intruder.

Jazz lifts his other arm to parry a deft strike from the shockingly strong child. He's sent tumbling backwards onto the floor when the small Cybertronian kicks off of his chest compartment with his pedes. Jazz's vision grows blurry as he loses more energon, and stumbles on his knees as he struggles to lift himself back up to his full height. There's no way on Cybertron he's seriously gonna be done in by some brat; his odds, however, are not in his favor thus far.

Wilder lands swiftly on his pedes and is about to move in to finish off his now downed prey when he's interrupted. Mirage, having tackled this kid once, scrapes up the nerve to do a repeat. Throwing his weight against the other sparkling, Mirage brings the attacker down, leading Wilder to strike his processor against the wall. Wilder howls wildly and turns to pin the other down, only to have his grab dodged and receives a blunt smack to his faceplates by the other's pede.

A splinter of pure terror pierces Jazz's spark at the sight of this; that dark sparkling is obviously lethal, there's no way the little blue and white one will survive a tussle with him! "Kid! No-!" Jazz hacks out the energon filling his throat to clear the path for his voice. He forces himself up and leans his weight forward to make a fast dash towards the wrestling sparklings.

His effort, however, is in vain. Time seems to come to a grinding halt when the dark sparkling raises his blade and drives it into the Towers sparkling's spark chamber.

* * *

I'm ready to hurl now.

Springer continues his mad dash up the twisting, winding stairwell until finally reaching a door. Kicking it down as easily as he did with the last four doors in the last four stairwells that we've been going up, he vents a sigh of achievement when we are finally met with the sight of Cybertron's early solar cycle sky, which is just hardly lit by the peak of the rising Alpha Centauri.

I look back and around the thick arm that's wrapped protectively around my waist to see if the Smelting Pool's contents are still chasing us like we did something to offend it. Although my optical sensors pick up no indication of the oncoming threat, my audio receivers are flooded with the sound of the nearing destruction of melting structures and collapsing framework.

"Slag. We're not home free just yet." Springer grinds his teeth.

Looking forward to see what he means, I abruptly gasp to find that the door we had come through leads out to the remaining edge of a long collapsed bridge—we're basically stuck out on a ledge overlooking a fatal drop. My attention is grabbed by a sudden crack in the face of the building off to my side. A thick stream of acid spews from the wound and draws a curse from the green mech carrying me and Prowl. We'll either be done in by the acid or from the building collapsing from under us if we don't think fast.

Springer leans back into the stairwell and peers down to find that the acidic molten is catching up to us much faster than we would like, and is bound to be on our heels in a short breem. Stepping back out to the ledge, Springer internally activates a comlink.

"Blades! Whirl! I need an air pick-up—NOW!"

"Springer?" Kup's voice crackles into life over the link, "Why can't 'cha fly yerself, kid?"

The young mech angrily barks over the link, "My arms are full, old-timer! Unless you think I should just drop them and save myself—AUGH!" Springer instinctively curls himself forward when a stray blob of molten catches the back of his leg. "Slaggit! NOW! I MEAN NOW!"

I grow incredibly uneasy when I catch Springer peering over the edge of the destroyed bridge, summing up if he'd be able to survive such a long fall—passengers included. Growing anxious, I search our surroundings for a better solution, and find it in the form of an emergency panel beside the doorway behind us. Reaching it with the tips of my pedes, I'm relieved to find that the rusty contraption still works as a thick blaster door suddenly drops down, sealing the open doorway.

Springer jolts at the sudden thud of the shutting blaster door, "Nice one, kid." However, the momentary safety mechanism proves that it won't be a long solution as the door suddenly begins to turn a fiery red; the acid is already eating its way through!

I yelp as fear grips me when the molten acid begins seeping through the outlining edges of the door. Springer steps to the very edge of the ledge as the deadly substance begins eating away the ground from underneath us. He's about to step off completely when the sound of roaring helicopter rudders fills the air.

"You crazy aft slagger! Don't do it!" Whirl comes cutting through the crisp air of the early solar cycle, carrying two extra Cybertronians. The flyer quickly positions himself a short jump away from his green comrade and his carry-ons.

Roadbuster releases one of his servos from its grip around Whirl's landing gear and reaches towards Springer, "Jump, Springer!"

Springer grits his teeth, "There's no way you'll be able to hold all of our weight, Whirl! Take the kid!"

My intakes choke up for a splitting moment as I'm thrown from Springer's arm over the small gap towards the other large Cybertronian. As my small chassis flies through the air for a brief moment, I hear a strange sound that seems both angry and terrified come from Prowl's vocalizer. The wind is knocked out of me as I'm grabbed out of the air by the massive servo of Springer's comrade, and I'm furthermore smothered as I'm squeezed against his chest plate; doesn't _anybot_ know how you're supposed to hold a kid?

Twintwist hollers from the open side doors of Whirl's alt-form, "Springer, don't be a dumbaft! Jump!"

"That's what I'm gonna do, aft face!" Without another word, Springer tightens his hold on Prowl and steps off the ledge, just as the blaster door holding back the Smelting Pool's contents suddenly gives, releasing an angry wave of acid that waterfalls over the ledge; chasing right behind the two descending mechs.

"FRAAAAAAAG!" Whirl quickly maneuvers away from the cascading molten, nearly knocking Twintwist out of his alt-form, while Roadbuster turns his shoulder outward to protect me from the splattering bits that manage to reach us.

I watch with wide optics as Springer's pedes come in contact with the ground far below. I hear him curse again as he looks up to see what's falling towards him. In an act of complete selflessness, Springer throws Prowl forward onto the ground and throws his own chassis over the Praxian to shield his weaker comrade from the searing acid. A sharp cry of pain echoes from under the shower of bright yellow liquid, and I fear for the worse. After the initial pressurized release of acid dwindles down to a slower stream, however, I'm relieved to find two recognizable forms move forward from under it.

"He made it! Springer made it!" The large mech holding me is overcome by his excitement, and squeezes me tightly in the process. I'm only able to squeak as the air is once more forced from my intakes, and the mech quickly loosens his hold, "Oops, sorry, kid."

I can only sigh in response.

Springer stands and drags Prowl further away from the spilling acid and props him into a sitting position, "Prowl? Prowl, you still with us?"

Prowl's darkened optics flicker online, "Springer… you… saved…" The mech saved him, saved Nightbeat, too.

Springer nods. "Slag right."

* * *

"Jazz? Jazz, respond." Kup holds a servo digit to the side of his processor as he calls his student over a comlink. He holds onto a bar framing the upper ridge of the side door of Blade's alt-form, gazing out to the roof that the flyer is currently circling over. Jazz's allotted ten breems is up, and no sign of the mech. "Jazz, if I have to come back in there and drag you out by your—"

"Easy, m'mech…" Jazz comes stumbling out of the doorway that opens to the roof of one of Kolkular's adjoined structures, carrying two sparklings—neither of which are moving much.

Kup can't hold back a grin, but it quickly fades when he sees a field patch job around his pupil's throat. Something went very wrong if Jazz got hurt so badly. "Take us down, Blades."

"Got it, Kup." The flyer responds and swoops down to pick up the extra Cybertronians.

Jazz hands the tiny blue and white mech to Minerva, who accepts him without hesitance, and hands the other sparkling to Kup. With his servos free, he steps into the helicopter and sinks his weight into a seat with a heavy vent of air.

Kup is more than surprised to find the unconscious sparkling he's holding has a pair of stasis cuffs around his wrists, as well as a few dents and scrapes—frag, the kid looks like he was hit by a few tank shells. Turning his attention to his student, he questions, "Jazz, what happened to you? And who's the extra kid?"

"Tha kid…" Jazz winces as his throat detests the use of his vocalizer. Rather than continuing on, Jazz points to the dark child in Kup's grasp and then turns his servo digit towards his throat.

"What, _this kid_ did _that_?" Kup turns his optics towards the little one in his lap with a new point of view. He notices the purple bade branded onto the child's chest plate, "Primus, he's one of them… they're usin' kids now…" Kup is speechless for a moment, but gathers himself quickly, looking to Minerva, "That the Towers kid? He okay?"

Minerva cradles Mirage and without thinking, she wets her servo digits with her tongue and wipes them across the child's faceplates, cleaning off some of the grit, "Mirage?"

Mirage is unresponsive for a moment, then onlines his optics tiredly. "Miss Minerva? I… I got stabbed."

"What?" Minerva's tone displays her shock. She lowers her optics to Mirage's chest plate, and there is, indeed, a dent. "It—it looks like it didn't go through…"

Jazz smirks and elbows Kup's arm to get his attention. Opening a private comlink with his mentor, a silent, internal conversation passes between the two. Kup's optics light up.

"Well well, resourceful little fella, then. Seems the Towers kid managed to get himself a coating of Rheanimum. He must've found it in the factory." Kup then looks out at said factory, "Slag. Looks like that place is gonna be melt to scrap by the end of the cycle. Bye bye Rheanimum, bye bye any evidence we might've been able to pin to those damn Gladiators."

"Kup…" Minerva pets Mirage's processor helm gently, but her optics are set hard as she locks them with the older mech's.

"We've got your kid, Minerva. Just got word. He's okay."

Minerva's optics offline. Thank Primus. Dear Primus. She lowers her processor and rests her forehead against Mirage's helm. She's going to have her son back.

* * *

The Cybertronian helicopter designated Whirl touches down to the wet-surfaced rooftop of the Kaonian Enforcer Department. With his tanks full of fresh energon, Nightbeat helps himself out of the flyer and hits the ground running. Where is she? He has to see her. He has to hold her. He has to let her know—

"Nightbeat!"

"Mom!"

The two race to each other, the femme dropping to her knees and taking her child into a consuming embrace. She kisses her son all across his face and helm, the child basking in the warmth every single show of affection. She wipes away his tears before pushing away her own and cups his tiny face in her servos.

"Mom…"

They embrace. Minerva stands, taking Nightbeat into her arms and holding him close to her spark. Nightbeat buries his face into his mother's neck, recognizing the warmth and scent of the one he loves. _This_ is how you're supposed to hold a sparkling.

Kup watches the reunion from the doorway leading into from the roof to the inside of the Department, leaning against the frame. He may be able to forgive himself now, but only time will tell. Surely his fallen comrade, that brilliant detective of Sector Capri, would understand. He'll have to ask him when he joins him on the other side.

"I love you, Nightbeat."

The sparkling takes a sharp intake and clings to his mother with his tiny, desperate servos. "I love you, too."


	43. Chapter 43

A/N: Alright all… This is it. This is the end of Sector Capri. I wish I could hug every single one of you, I couldn't have done it without the support every single read and every single review gave. This has been an amazing experience, and I most certainly plan on coming back to tell more stories, and I hope you'll be there to listen ^_^ Thank you everyone who has read my story, who has left reviews, and all who have faved this and have signed up for alerts. I had no idea it was going to turn out like this, with so many readers on every corner of the globe, I'm just amazed and so grateful. There will be more Sector Capri artwork as well as sneak peeks at my upcoming stories on my DA page (link is on my profile), so I hope to see you there! Now, before I tear up furthermore…XD

Please Enjoy and Review! See ya next time! ^_^

* * *

The train ride from Kaon to Iacon is a long one, with dramatic changes across the landscape; my optics, however, are not directed out the window. As I lazily awake from a dose of recharge, a vision that I pray is real comes into focus. My mother is smiling warmly at me, cradling my processor in her lap. I'm hardly aware of the fact that my optics are still exposed without a visor shielding them, and I don't care either. I'll always let her see them.

I stretch slightly and sit up, holding my mother's hand; this entire train ride, I've made an effort to always have some kind of physical contact with her. Perhaps I'm afraid she's going to be gone if I turn around. I take a wide look around the train compartment, observing the other passengers. Everyone that I saw in the Department back in Kaon is here.

The only five that aren't here are Jazz, Prowl, Springer, Blades the flyer, and… Mirage.

I overheard that Springer's, Jazz's and Prowl's conditions were too critical to take the long train route home; whereas with Mirage, they didn't want to take any risks. I heard that his spark chamber may have been fractured by some kind of wound to his chest compartment. Thus, Blades took the four speedily towards Iacon to receive attention from Cybertron's top Medical Department. Mom and I didn't require as much attention as they did, just a quick patch-up from the Kaonian Med bots and a big cube of Energon for me.

I haven't seen Mirage since we were separated in the factory in Kolkular. I wonder if I'll ever see him again. I mean, I need to be realistic here. I'm a low-caste kid from Sector Capri, and he's basically the royalty of Cybertron's highest society. His chassis is always coated with layers of the finest waxes while mine is coated by thick layers of dirt. We come from very different walks of life, how could we ever find a meeting point? Those High Tower Pavilions bots would probably think I was a joke if I ever showed up asking if Mirage could play.

Although I suppose they're not the ones that matter. I suppose it's up to me and Mirage. I would understand, though, if he didn't want to be friends anymore. While those high society bots may not matter to me, they'll most certainly be important in Mirage's future; the high life has always been ruled by the politics of their social world.

I should just stop thinking. Maybe I'm looking at this all wrong. After all, Mirage _did_ stow away on a helicopter and somehow managed to find me in Kaon—the worst of all places—and who knows what he may have endured before he did. That ought to say something, right?

"Don't worry over things, love."

My attention is pulled away from my thoughts and I look up to find my mother watching me intently with a soft smile. She knows me too well; she knew I was bothering myself with contemplations that are simply irrelevant at the moment. I return the smile and I offline my optics as she leans over to press a big kiss on my cheek. I giggle when she kisses me in that ticklish spot just under my jaw line.

I'm sure I'll see Mirage again, how could I not? If anything, I'm sure I'll see him when I go to the Enforcer Department in Iacon to give my testimony of what happened.

I rest my processor against my mother's arm and I fall once more into recharge. When I awake, the skies outside the train compartment windows are dark and it feels as though we've come to a halt. We're back in Iacon. Soon, I'll be in Sector Capri. I'll be in my own home, in my own berth.

I'll rule the streets and alleyways again.

I'm about to stand up from my seat when I'm scooped up by my mother. She rubs my back and I rest my cheek on her shoulder; she doesn't want to lose me again so she's going to carry me like a toddler. I don't care what the tough-looking Academy bots who have seemingly deemed themselves 'The Wreckers' think; I'll let her baby me for a while. As my mother moves down the walkway in the train towards the exit, I raise my optics shyly and am met by a surprising sight. The few rough mechs that I manage to get glimpses of are watching me and my mother with a look that I can't quite place. Is it sadness? Adoration? _Longing_?

It makes me wonder when these tough-bots were last hugged by _their _moms.

The older mech known as Kup reaches out and touches my mom's shoulder, "Go on home, Minerva. You and yer kid get some rest, I'll arrange it so that you two can make your reports at the Department tomorrow."

"Thank you, Kup. For everything." My mom squeezes the servo resting on her shoulder before turning and carrying me home. We're escorted the entire way by Roadbuster, and not a single bot looked our way in that big mech's presence.

Upon arriving at home, Mom and I are briefly crowded by our curious and worried neighbors, some of which aren't quick to recognize me with my new colors and missing visor. Not in the mood for mingling, I bury my face in my mother's neck while Roadbuster clears a path for us through the small crowd, telling the neighbors to let us be. Not a single bot protests against the towering mech. I should make a friend like Roadbuster, having a big mech around certainly has its benefits.

When my mother opens the door to our single-room home, I feel as though I've stepped into a dream. Everything is just as I remember it. The table in the center of the room still looks like it's about to collapse, the chest sitting against the far wall probably still holds my father's report drafts, and our two beds are still nearly touching at the ends. Shutting the door behind us, my mother hesitantly sets me down onto my own pedes. I look up at her as I notice she's observing my dirtied chassis.

"Well, you certainly can't go to recharge like that. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to head down to the public showers, either. Wait here." She touches the tip of my olfactory sensor and turns to leave before stopping and looking back at me, "I'll be right back, alright? I'm just going to find a bucket large enough to wash you up in."

"'Kay." I respond. I watch her leave and when the door shuts I feel… like I'm not alone. I glance around casually, not really expecting to see anybot that I hadn't noticed upon first entering my home. However, I can feel optics on me. What a bizarre sensation…

In an attempt to divert my attention from this strange feeling, I walk over to my berth and pull out one of the numerous small boxes from under it. I open it up and I'm happy to find what I had left in it is still there. I pick up the different odds and ends out of the box, the little bolts and pieces of pretty rocks with touches of colorful paint; things from various allies that simply caught my optics as I was passing by. Little pieces of Sector Capri.

I'm suddenly possessed to stop what I'm doing and reach into one of my subspace compartments to find the red light bulb from the toy ray gun that father had given me. I observe it once more against the light, marveling at the intricate lines and shapes that must be carved on the inside of the glass sphere. I hold it gingerly in the palm of my servo before resting it in the tin box sitting on my lap. I replace the lid and slide the little treasure chest back under my berth.

Once more, I feel as though there's another presence in the room. I can just hardly sense the light essence of a spark. I suddenly feel something warm caress the back of my processor. Turning quickly, I find no sign of what it was, but… I suddenly feel… at ease.

It was _him_. He was saying goodbye.

The Emirate.

"Alright, kiddo, we're in business!" My mother walks in, looking a bit silly as she struggles to carry a bucket filled halfway with cleaning solvent. Shutting the door skillfully with her pede, she pauses in her motions when she looks at me, "Nightbeat? Baby, is everything okay?"

This is another reason why I always wear my visor; I don't like worrying others with my sometimes confusing facial expressions. I quickly alter my demeanor and smile, "I'm okay, Mom." I hop up onto my pedes and help her carry the bucket into the center of the room, moving the table to the side to create more space. At my mother's request, I step into the warmed solvent and imbibe all the attention I get as she wipes the dark blue paint away from my faceplates, revealing the light yellow underneath.

Once my faceplates are entirely clean, Mom holds my chin and kisses my forehead before looking me in the optics with a smile, "Here's lookin' at you, kid."

* * *

**Epligoue.**

**

* * *

**

**Mirage.**

Collected in the great walls of Iacon's Medical Department are the most brilliant minds Cybertron has to offer in the fields of medicinal science and repair. Dozens of top-notch doctors run and monitor the activities within the grand structure in the heart of Iacon, fighting outbreaks of rust and fixing broken axel joints like it were child's play. Here in this place of healing, hundreds of medical students in training follow strict orders in hopes of gaining recognition and praise from their genius mentors.

As crowded as this place may seem to be, Mirage wouldn't be surprised if at this moment the place is abandoned. Sitting on the hard berth in the empty Med Bay, he has little else to do besides watch the occasional flyer pass by the window, inciting dreams of flight in the Towers sparkling. He certainly wishes he could fly out of this place right now. The Enforcer Department has so far been unable to contact or even locate his creators. No surprise there. They probably diverted from their original plan of following the racing events and hopped aboard somebot's fancy Space Yacht.

They haven't the slightest clue. They could arrive home to find themselves short a sparkling.

Nothing new there. Mirage isn't even sure he wishes to see them, anyways. He'd much rather see Nightbeat and Miss Minerva. He wonders why Nightbeat hasn't visited him yet; when the Enforcers had come to take down his testimony of the events leading from Iacon to the big showdown in Kaon, they had mentioned that 'the Sector Capri kid' had asked about him at the Department. So why hasn't he seen him yet? Perhaps he doesn't know where Mirage's med room is?

There's a sudden knocking at the door, snapping Mirage's attention towards it. "C-come in." He replies hesitantly. He's still a little jumpy from almost having a blade plunged into his spark chamber.

"Mirage? Ah thought Ah'd come by ta see you… See how yer doin'." A large, red mech enters the room, holding a tiny tin box with ornate patterns on it. Mirage recognizes both the mech and the box of his favorite Energon goodies instantly.

"Ironhide!" The sparkling smiles brightly, happy to see his part-time guardian, "Please, have a seat!" Ever the well-mannered sparkling, Mirage gestures towards a seat near his berth in a welcoming manner.

The red mech smiles but then pauses upon entering, glancing around the room, "Don't you have anybot here with you-?" He wishes he could've stopped himself. He should know better that of course the kid's creators wouldn't be here. The blow, however, has already been dealt.

Mirage's cheery expression falters slightly, but regains itself quickly, "Um, the nurse just left for a moment. They've been checking on me every now and then."

Ironhide dips his processor in understanding, as well as in gratitude for how quickly the sparkling is to forgive and forget; a trait he's always seen in the youngling. Catching the blue and white sparkling's optics on the tin box in his servos, he chuckles and hands over the goods, "Thought you might be getting tired of the slop they serve here." He grins when he earns a snigger from the child.

"Actually, our 'slop' is quite substantial." A gruff voice patiently snaps.

Turning, Ironhide winces when he's met by the fiery gaze of a mostly white Cybertronian. "Don't mean it ain't still slop—_sir_." He dares to return the Med bot's statement with a grin.

"Uh huh." Ratchet flicks his stylus sharply across the datapad he's writing on. "We'll see if you get any more of it the next time you show up in my Med Bay with shrapnel in your aft."

"Ahem." Ironhide tilts his processor back towards Mirage. "Watch the biting sarcasm, would ya **Hatchet**?"

"What was that?"

"Ratchet?"

"That's what I thought. Ironhide, did you receive permission for this visit? Mirage here is in a very delicate state. He had a fracture in his spark chamber." Ratchet enters the med room and begins examining Mirage's optics with a small light.

Ironhide puffs his chest compartment out defensively, "As a matter o' fact, yes, Ah did."

Ratchet's humor continues to lessen as he catches a glimpse of the tiny box the sparkling fails to slip away under his pillow in time, "And the goodies? Ironhide, you don't know if I've got him on a special diet or not."

"D'aw, c'mon, Ratch, what're a few lil bites o' sunshine gonna hurt? He's a kid, he needs sweets." Ironhide speaks with a sympathetic tone and gestures towards the 'poor child'.

"Mm-hm, and this is why you're not a doctor. Thank you for your visit, Ironhide, but I've got Mirage on a strict schedule of recharge and physical therapy. Now is his time for recharge, not flappin' yappers." Ratchet steps away from the berth and begins shooing the red mech from his seat.

"Aw, Ratch, Ah just got here, and the kid's happy to see me! How can ya be so cold-sparked?" Ironhide whines as he's forced from his seat by the advancing doc bot.

"Um, 'scuse me…" A little voice comes from the doorway, leading Mirage to sit up in his berth.

Both grown mechs pause in their banter and turn to see a blue and yellow sparkling with a femme. Ratchet freezes. "It's you…"

The Sector Capri sparkling looks up to the mech speaking, recognizing him. The Med bot that had tried helping him at the Towers, Ratchet. Nightbeat had been wondering what had become of him.

"Nightbeat, do you know him?" Minerva questions her son.

"My name's Nightbeat. Nice to meet you, Ratchet." He extends a servo towards the other.

Ratchet is unable to respond at first. The child he had been treating at the High Tower Pavilions, the one that the Emirate of Kaon and his sparkmate had supposedly been the creators of. Is this femme with him his real mother? She must be—their resemblance is remarkable. Collecting himself, he steps around Ironhide and takes the tiny, offered servo in his own. His name is Nightbeat. He knew it wasn't Wilder. "Nightbeat… it's good to see you."

"Nightbeat? Nightbeat!" Mirage hops off his berth and dashes between the two mechs blocking his path to his friend.

"Mirage!" Nightbeat happily accepts his friend's embrace, childish giggles emanating from both sparklings.

"I'm so happy you're okay! I was worried when I didn't see you… Nightbeat, I've been thinking, we should go to the Academy of Iacon together! We could see each other all the time and be classmates! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Nightbeat feels a wave of relief and excitement wash away his worries; they're going to stay friends.

Ratchet can't bring himself to be upset with Mirage for being out of his berth and practically tackling into his friend, and watches the reunion with a smile. He has to scoff in slight annoyance, however, when Ironhide nudges him with his elbow in a 'see-you're-not-so-mean' gesture. Deciding to retake the reigns of the situation, Ratchet speaks, "Alright, let's put Mirage back in his berth, and you two can talk for a little while before he takes his nap." He guides Mirage to his berth and scoots a chair close to its side for Nightbeat to sit in.

Ratchet and Ironhide join Minerva just outside the door, and watch the two friends as they chatter.

* * *

**Prowl.**

Transforming into his bipedal form, Prowl steps onto the grounds of the Enforcer Academy of Iacon and experiences a sense of nostalgia. Having just been released from the Medical Department, his joints are still slightly sore as he passes by the groups of underclassbots who stop in their tracks to watch their new hero pass by. Apparently he's gained some notoriety in his absence, Prowl thinks to himself.

Walking through the inner halls of the Academy, Prowl scans the gawking crowds in search of a particular red and white mech. During their stay at the Medical Department, Jazz had told him how Red Alert had pretty much legitimized his case concerning Nightbeat's disappearance. He's going to have to thank the shy bot for doing so. In a sense, Red Alert saved both his, Minerva's, and Nightbeat's lives. Back-up would never have showed up if it had not been for Sentinel Major's realization of Prowl's case.

Speaking of Sentinel Major, Prowl finds that he's already reached the Department Chief's office door without having found Red Alert. Oh well, he'll have to find him later. The door opens before Prowl can even announce himself; Prowl doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. Entering, the door automatically swooshes shut, and Prowl finds his superior standing by the wide window at the other end of the office.

Turning, Sentinel Major greets the other, "Prowl, please, have a seat." His student does just that, and Sentinel Major finds that it's still his turn to talk, "Ah, how are you healing up? We were all staying as up-to-date on yours and Jazz's conditions as we could here at the Department."

Prowl unconsciously rubs the place on his chest compartment where there had once been a gaping wound, "It's—I'm doing much better, sir. Thank you for your concern."

When the Praxian finishes speaking, Sentinel Major finds the ball in his court once more. Deciding to first attend to business matters before delving into the more… personal… matters that he wishes to discuss, he begins, "We've gathered the testimonies from all who were involved in this case—at least from those we were able to find. The kid from Sector D-12—Nightbeat, that is—he had… quite a few interesting things to say. Prowl…" The Department Chief walks over to his desk and sets his servos flat on its surface, leaning forward to express the seriousness of what he's about to say.

Prowl is unsure of what Nightbeat could have possibly said to have put Sentinel Major on edge like this.

"He's proven his father's work. He's given us hard, concrete evidence connecting the Gladiators of Kaon with the Sector D-12 Circuits gang… furthermore, he's revealed to us evidence of a rising revolutionary faction known as the Decepticons which are, again, the makings of the Gladiators. He's also… told us about this faction's interest in Trypticon."

"Primus..!" Prowl is unable to restrain his outburst at the mention of the space station known as Trypticon, which currently orbits Cybertron's mass in a seemingly lifeless state. Being a mere Academy student, Prowl shouldn't even know what the name 'Trypticon' means, but after it slipped from Kup's vocalizer during one of the old mech's war stories, the jig was up and Kup told all to the Praxian; trusting the black and white mech to guard the secret and use the information wisely. Kup has always been one to believe that too much is withheld from the knowledge of the younger generations.

"Now, the child doesn't know what Trypticon is, and I expect it to stay that way. He and his mother are already in enough danger with this faction still running freely and knowing all that he knows. However, I've sent out daily patrols recently, all of which have come back reporting that there are no signs of the Circuits even still existing here. We believe they've been pulled back to Kaon, and something is going to happen. We're not sure when, but we'll be prepared either way."

Prowl takes in this data-dump of shocking news. So Nightbeat did it, did he? He found the evidence to support his father's case. How proud he would be of his son…

Prowl then comes to a realization, "Sentinel Major, sir, does this mean that the Omega Dawn case—"

"Is reopened, yes." Sentinel Major verifies. Omega Dawn, the name given to the life work of the Detective of Sector Capri who had lost his life seeking the truth, was a title not heard for joors; it has been forgotten by many.

The room falls silent for a moment until Sentinel Major speaks again, "Prowl… " Said mech raises his attention to his superior as he continues, " It has been brought to my attention that… things need to change around this Department. Primarily, I need to start listening."

Prowl is surprised by this statement. Is Sentinel Major…apologizing? If so, this is probably as direct as it's going to be. Prowl is astonished the Department Chief was able to swallow enough of his pride to say as much as he already has.

"Prowl, I'm sorry. You were right. You're among the finest that this Academy has to offer, and I should have trusted your judgment." It takes Sentinel Major a lot of effort to look the Praxian in the optics as he speaks.

Wow, scratch that previous thought. Prowl can't hide the look of surprise in his optics, "Sir…" he dips his processor in a modest bow, "Thank you, sir."

"I have also decided…" Prowl raises his processor to look curiously to his speaking superior. Sentinel Major straightens his posture and speaks in a professional tone," …That I would be honored if upon your graduation… you joined my Department branch as an Officer. You've done more than enough to prove your commitment to your duty, and you've displayed a courage that the Enforcer Department needs in order to change for the better. We've entered dire times, and the Department needs a leader like you on the team." The mech looks intently for any kind of reaction in the young Praxian's faceplates.

So he's offering a bribe somewhat in a plea for forgiveness—and a very tempting one at that. Prowl doesn't need to consider the benefits of stepping straight out of the Academy and into a highly ranked position in comparison to wasting his talents at the bottom of the ladder. However, Prowl still hesitates for a moment.

Sentinel Major realizes his offer isn't going to be taken up right away, so he sweetens the deal, "And I'm going to make the same offer to Jazz, so that you two may work together. I know that your finest work is always in conjunction with his input, and he's proven himself to be a fine leader in the field. The both of you would be supreme assets to my Department. What do you say?" He extends his servo for the other to hopefully accept.

Prowl's audio receptors perk. He can't believe what he's hearing, surely there's a catch. Nonetheless, it would be idiotically illogical to turn the Major down. Straightening his own posture, Prowl answers, "Sir, I would be honored to join your ranks and serve Iacon's Department. Thank you." He takes his superiors servo in his own and they shake on it.

Sentinel Major has to smile as he nods. Always a polite one, this kid is. Even after being practically abandoned by his superior, the Praxian still manages to uphold his manners. "Excellent. You'll have a position waiting for you when you graduate."

Prowl nods as well. "Is there… anything else you need to tell me, sir?"

Sentinel Major's faceplates slowly turn somber. There is indeed something else. One of the most difficult duties that being the Chief of the Department entails is having to tell others the news they don't want to hear. "Yes, Prowl. One more thing before I let you go on your way. Our branch in Kaon has been searching high and low… and…"

Prowl offlines his optics. A fresh sting scorches through his spark.

"I'm sorry. They've found no traces of Officer Roulette, or her sister. But we'll keep looking, Prowl. You have my word." Sentinel is only able to catch Prowl's optics for a moment before the student looks away.

It was very frightening at first. Prowl had come online in the Med Bay in Iacon, and among his first questions was "Where is Roulette?", but nobot had an answer for him. Kup had said "Don't worry, she'll turn up". Jazz had said "She's a tough girl, she's fine". What if she isn't? What if the clean-up crews find traces of her in the fallen ruins of Kolkular? What if her sister finally lost every sense of control and-?

What if… she ran away with her sister? Prowl can't say he understands the bond of sisters, but he would be able to follow the logic of wanting to protect somebot dear. Despite some of the harsh things she had said, Roulette never seemed to have truly given up on her sister. Is it so far-fetched to believe that perhaps she took her insane sibling away, to be cured perhaps? Or to simply be protected from the punishments the Law would surely place upon her?

It does seem like a long stretch, but not impossible. If that were somehow the case, then wouldn't she have at least… said goodbye?

Prowl onlines his optics, their luminosity shedding a colder blue than before. Anything could have happened, but all Prowl knows for sure is that Roulette is not here with him. She's not by his side as he had wished. He wished for many things, but he now realizes that one ought not to linger in fanciful thinking; it will only lead to hurt. "Thank you, sir."

The cold Praxian salutes his superior and leaves.

* * *

**Siren.**

The bells announcing the end of school ring through the hallways of the small structure saved for education in Sector Capri. Sparklings of all shapes, sizes, and colors erupt from the front doors in a mad frenzy, cheerful that their deca-cycle-long vacation has begun. One small, blue sparkling, however, comes out last, scuffing his pedes along the ground as he walks.

Siren hasn't spoken much ever since that recharge cycle. Being a kid in Sector Capri, he hasn't heard much news of anything being done to make up for those events, either. Miss Minerva had simply told him to get help and then go home. That was it. He hasn't heard a peep from anybot about anything going on. Was anything even being done to help—

"Hey, kid, what's got you so down?" a cool voice nonchalantly questions.

Siren looks up to see who's asking, when his optics flash in a flood of emotions, "Nightbeat!"

"Who else? OOF!" Nightbeat laughs as he's tackled down by the surprisingly strong sparkling who's still at the most two-thirds his height. Sitting up, he holds the smaller sparkling in a processor-lock and gives him a hearty noogie, "You didn't think I was gonna stick around in Kaon forever, didja?"

Siren breaks free of the hold and once again pushes Nightbeat over, "Y-you were in _Kaon_? What happened? Nightbeat—" The sparkling is suddenly interrupted by a hiccup in his vocalizer. Sitting back on his haunches, Siren lowers his face in embarrassment as a few tears of clear Energon trickle from his optics and olfactory sensor, "I—I thought they killed you! It was all my fault, too! I should've listened to you, and, and I'm really sorry! I'm sorry!" He smudges a servo across his dirty faceplates, making quite a mess of himself.

Nightbeat sits up and sighs, watching the little one quiver. "Aah, c'mon. You think they could take _me_ out? Yer outta yer processor, kid. It'd take a whole _army_ to get rid of me. Trust me. Even their best couldn't finish me off." Moving onto his knees, Nightbeat moves over to his friend's side and wraps his arm around the smaller one's processor in a 'bro-hug'.

"A-are you mad at me?"

"Mad at you? Who could be mad at a kid with snot all over his face?" Nightbeat chuckles lightly as he turns the now giggling Siren's face upwards and wipes off the Energon staining his blue faceplates. "You're hopeless." he says softly as he wipes his servo off on his leg. He stands, pulling Siren up with him. "Now listen, Siren."

"What?"

"You an' me have some business to talk about."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"You still wanna be partners?"

* * *

**Kolkular's ruins…**

Cybertron's star, Alpha Centuari, is low on the far horizon, its last rays of light a beacon that calls a warning of the coming dark cycle. While many citizens are taking shelter in their shoddy homes after a long solar cycle of work, denizens of chaos and crime are just beginning to emerge from their grimy dens, anxious to get to their shady deals and underground events. The neon lights decking the streets flicker on with buzzing static; their intense colors creating a haze over the city that veils the pure light of the stars above. The City of Fear known as Kaon discards her gown of the solar cycle and beckons to her minions with a voice of velvet filled with lust and greed. Not many who walk her black streets without satiating her thirst for treachery and carnage survive to see Alpha Centauri rise again.

At the far outskirts of this city lie the ruins of what was once the heart of the faction called the Decepticons, Kolkular. Within this structure was the feared Smelting Pool, but it's contents have since receded back into the depths of Cybertron's subsurface, perhaps never to be seen again. The once-standing fortress had served as an iconic silhouette in Kaon's skyline, but it now serves as nothing more than a steaming scrap heap. Large hunks of walls and bridges pile atop one another among a solidified sea of melted metal, creating a cocktail of elements. Although the Fire Department of Kaon stopped the flow of the acid that had been the structure's undoing, the core of the ruble still burns a deep, fiery red.

A single worker of the cleanup crew sent to erase the reminder of the structure that once stood these grounds wanders through the ruins, seeking any kind of scraps that may be salvageable for melting down and resale. The wandering Cybertronian is skinny in build, and his mind is a narrow one that is constantly locked in tunnel vision. As the mech treads across the shredded planks of metal and twisted frames that once structured the proud towers surrounding Kolkular, he releases a vent of air and scratches at the rusty rash developing in the joint connecting his leg and pelvic components. Deciding that there's nothing of value to be found in the fallen carcass of what he believes was simply an abandoned factory, the grungy bot is about to turn away to leave when something moves in a nearby pile of scrap.

Freezing in his movements, the mech locks his optics on the pile, wondering if perhaps the fading light of Alpha Centauri is playing tricks on his sensors. Once more, the pile moves, as if something is trapped beneath it. The cleanup mech jolts in surprise as his knee joints knock together, resonating in loud clangs. He watches the pile for a moment longer before he hears a barely audible, pained… groan?

"P-P-Primus! Somebot's in there!" The young mech panics, spraying spit from between his two protruding tooth components as he speaks. Looking in several directions as though he is unsure of how to react, of who he should call, the mech sends himself into a hysterical frenzy of gibberish fits and wrings his servos. Coming to a conclusion, the mech stops and grabs for a blowtorch locked onto his back and lights the tip. "D-don't worry, whoever you are! I'll getcha outta there!"

The skittish mech inches towards the pile, his torch held before him almost in a defensive manner. Not having the capacity to consider if he might possibly end up further injuring whoever it is that lies under the rubble with his blowtorch, he begins cutting through the layered scrap heap until he creates a less-than-perfect circle. He turns the fire tool off and quickly sets it aside. Going forward, he begins hauling off chunks of the scrap pile before exposing the chassis of a Cybertronian underneath.

"B-by the Well of Sparks… A-are you still functioning? Can you hear me?" The young cleanup crewbot reaches forward to touch the unrecognizable, scorched form of the Cybertronian lying in the rubble before him. The mech's servo, however, is roughly seized by the barely functioning bot he just uncovered.

The cleanup mech releases a cry of fear for a splitting moment before being pulled down and having his processor crushed in the other servo of Barricade. The dark Gladiator rests his dismembered chassis for a moment before pulling himself out of the rubble that had kept him trapped for the past few cycles. Dragging himself out of the scrap heap by his servos, Barricade finds that he feels lighter than usual. Looking down at his chassis, he finds that he's missing both of his legs rather than one.

"Guh… Slag," he grinds through his teeth. Turning to the young mech he had just offlined, he eyes the skinny legs of the lifeless chassis. Rolling his optics, he decides that it's his only option at the moment.

After a few breems of cursing and connecting wires, Barricade has a new pair of legs, though would rather go offline than let anybot see him with these pathetic appendages. Turning to face the tall ruins of Kolkular, he releases a radar wave, scanning the fallen structure. Pinpointing whatever it was he was searching for, Barricade unsheathes a fresh Energon blade from his arm and gets to work on cutting away through the ruins. A long joor later and Barricade emerges from his self-made hole through the ruins, lugging a massive lump of charred metal. Reaching the open air, he falls to his knees and curses the weak legs currently attached to his chassis.

Taking a moment to catch his intakes, Barricade looks to the steaming form he just spent a grueling joor digging up. Standing, he kicks the lump, "Brawl? You still functioning, you dumb frag?" He receives no response from the unmoving slab. Barricade's intakes hitch for a moment, but he collects himself quickly with deft control. "Brawl. Wake the frag up, dumbaft. C'mon, Megatron's gonna be wondering if we bailed on 'im." Crouching over, Barricade levels himself with Brawl's mangled processor, finding his single optic to be the only recognizable piece of the once mighty tank-former.

When the optic fails to online, an angry snarl spreads across Barricade's faceplates. "**You worthless piece of scrap!** I just fragging wasted my time digging your sorry aft up outta the ground and you're just gonna be offline? You stupid frag!" Once more, Barricade kicks the legless, armless, smoldered chassis of his comrade. The agile Gladiator turns on his pedes and scrapes up a servo-full of rubble and lobs it at the blackened husk, screaming bitterly in anger.

Turning his back to the lifeless lump, Barricade drops onto his aftplate and watches the last tip of Alpha Centauri dip behind the dark skyline of Kaon. "You dumb… dumb stupid aft…" He growls and stabs his Energon blade into a hunk of metal at his side. The air around him grows cold and still. Everything becomes quite. All Barricade can hear is the distant muffle of engines in the heart of the glowing city before him.

"…You're not gonna… get all mushy and hug me now… are you?"

Barricade's processor snaps in the direction of the voice behind him. That dumb lug. That stupid, dumb idiot. A strange, uneven laugh breaks from Barricade's vocalizer. "Like I'd wanna touch an ugly piece of slag like you." He stands and moves closer to his comrade, kneeling over to help the appendage-less mech prop himself up.

Brawl huffs once he's settled in something that could count as a sitting position. Turning his single optic to look upon his comrade, he snorts, "Frag, you look like you just came outta Unicron's—"

"Yeah, well your faceplates ain't so distinctive from yer aft either, so shut it."

Alpha Centauri has fallen, giving way to the darkest joors of this side of Cybertron until it rises again in a new dawn. There are many who claim to own this time of darkness, many who believe this is their time to run rampant like a disease and consume what they wish without consequence, but there will be only one Detective of Sector Capri who will rule the streets in favor of justice and assist in the rise of a new beginning.

**The End.**

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Next- _**Sector Capri: Exodus**_


End file.
